


No Words

by Ltleflrt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alpha Castiel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Character Death, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mpreg, Mute Dean, Omega Dean, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective Dean, Sign Language, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 112,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7818289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ltleflrt/pseuds/Ltleflrt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the run from his very powerful family, Castiel does his best to get lost.  Because if he doesn't know where he is, his brothers won't be able to find him very easily either.  He ends up in Silverton, a small mountain town nestled deep within the Rocky Mountains where he meets Dean Winchester, a very beautiful and <i>very</i> grumpy omega.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hokay, so. I'm writing an a/b/o fic. YAY! 
> 
> I marked it as werewolves although they're not exactly werewolves. I wrote a description of the world [here](http://ltleflrt.tumblr.com/post/149669381618/ltleflrt-alright-my-discourse-battery-has-run) at my Tumblr if you're interested in the details. 
> 
> Because Dean is mute I'll be doing some weird things with the text. Italicized dialogue in quotes " " will be communication through sign language. Italicized dialogue in asterisks * * will be imagined words expressed through body language and facial expressions, but can be up to interpretation by whoever's POV the story is being told from at that time. If something is italicized without quotes or asterisks, it's just normal word emphasis. Yeesh, I hope it all makes sense.
> 
> Silverton is a 100% fictional location although it is an amalgamation of places here in Utah. Because I can :)
> 
> As per usual, I will try to post weekly by Friday night/Saturday morning. Also as per usual, I probably won't keep to that schedule as tightly as I'd like to, but I'll TRY. I have no idea how long the story will be; I want to say not very long, but if you laughed when you read those words, don't worry because I totally did too. 
> 
> Like most of my work, this was typed using a swype keyboard on a touch screen. If you see a weird word that doesn't make sense, or the wrong version of a word, feel free to point it out so I can fix it. Thanks in advance :D

_ Three things cannot be long hidden.  The sun, the moon, and the truth. - Buddha _

 

Castiel holds his hands over the steaming engine of his car and the rising heat chases the numbness from his fingertips.  It does nothing for the numbness bundled tightly inside his chest, but his nails are no longer steadily turning blue.  At least the engine is still good for something, even if it is no longer pushing his car through the icy rain.  

Rain that is slowly seeping into the shoulders of his trench coat.  A shiver wracks his frame, and he realizes he's been standing there too long.

The thought is followed by a sneeze.  And then another.  The fog in his head thickens, and he feels his sinuses swell.  On top of everything, he seems to be developing a cold.  He doesn’t have the energy to be upset about it.

With a cloudy sigh that mingles with the steam rising from the engine, Castiel reaches for the rod holding up the hood and lets the heavy piece of metal drop back into place with a resounding _ca-chunk._ He shuffles through the puddles to the driver’s side door and slips into the relative warmth of the car’s interior.  He’s distantly aware that the heat won’t last, since the engine is not able to turn on and run the heater, but he doesn’t think about it any harder than he thinks about the tickle at the back of his throat that is probably going to become more irritating very soon.  

His internal autopilot continues to function, despite the fact that he feels an odd detachment from everything, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.  He taps at the screen until the browser is loading up a list of local tow companies.  At least he can get a signal.  All he can see is trees in every direction, lining the road so thickly he has no idea if there is civilization hiding behind them or if he’s wandered into some fairy land where the forest goes on and on forever.  If there are cell towers in the vicinity, they are well hidden by the abundant red and gold foliage.  

He taps the call link on the first listing and lifts the phone to his ear.  It rings long enough that he’s about to hang up, but just as he moves to do so he hears a click and a rough voice.  

“Singer Salvage.”

Castiel’s mouth moves ahead of his brain.  “My engine overheated.”

There’s a moment of silence, then an almost questioning, “Alright.”

More words come without Castiel’s direct input.  “I’ve never had a problem with the car before.  It’s always run very well.  I get the maintenance done on schedule.  I didn’t even know a car could overheat in such low temperatures.”

His rambling speech ends and he feels a twinge of embarrassment when the stranger on the other end of the line chuckles.  But the man’s response is kind, if slightly crude.  “Cars can be finicky bastards.  It don’t mean you did anything wrong.  You lookin’ for parts to fix it, or a tow?”

“A tow,” Castiel responds, relieved.

“Okay then.  Where’re you at?”

That is an excellent question.  Castiel looks around.  There aren’t any landmarks or signs and he can’t see any mile markers.  He huffs in frustration, feeling less emotionally numb as he’s forced to formulate thoughts into sentences, something he hasn’t had to do for several days now.  “I’m in a forest on a road.” He pauses, then adds, “going up.”

This time the man sounds less amused.  “I’m gonna need a little more than that.”

The wheels grind and the gears clank, but eventually Castiel’s grief-numbed mind begins to function properly.  “I passed a campground a few miles ago.  There was a large bear carved from a tree trunk at the entrance.  I think it was called Twin Pines… something.”

“Twin Pines Resort.  Boy, you’re lucky you called here ‘cause I know the place.”  There’s a sound of shuffling paper and then the man mumbles, “hang on a minute.”  Even though Castiel can tell the man put his hand over the phone to muffle his voice, he is still audible because his next words are shouted at the top of his lungs.  “Dean, I got a job for you!  Get in here!”

There’s a few moments of silence, then some speaking that is muffled enough that Castiel is only able to make out parts of the conversation.

“... don’t have to talk to him…  I know that, but Garth- _mumblemumble -_ he did not… just go tow the damn car, ya idjit.”  Then the man is talking directly to Castiel again.  He gets a description of Castiel’s car and tells him to watch for the truck.  

At the end of the call when Castiel assumes it’s time to hang up, the man who had eventually given his name as Bobby says, “Oh, one more thing, Mr. Castle-”

Castiel winces at the fake name.  When he was asked, he’d started to give his real name and then remembered why that wouldn’t be a good idea and stumbled into an alias with “Cas- Castle. Uh, Steve Castle _”._  It was the best he could come up with,

“-Dean is damn prickly, but don’t take it personally.  He’s like that with everybody.  And he’s not a talker, so don’t let that get to you either, you hear?”

“Okay.” Castiel has no idea what that’s supposed to mean, but he agrees automatically.  

They hang up and Castiel settles in to wait.  He shivers when he notices that the last of the heat is already fading, seeping away through the fogged windows.  The autumn rain continues to fall outside, filling the car with the soft roar of water against glass and steel, but despite the cold, the noise lulls Castiel and his eyelids begin to droop.  How long has it been since he’s slept?  He doesn’t remember.

He doesn’t think about it.  Instead he watches the water run down his windshield in random patterns and lets himself drift into a half-doze.  His mind drifts in a cushion of exhaustion and deliberate denial, seeing only the black and red behind his eyelids, and not the scenes that have been plaguing him since he’d left home a few days before.

Which is why he doesn’t notice the truck that passes him, going down the mountain.  And he doesn’t notice when it stops and turns around, and then pulls in front of Castiel’s car.  He doesn’t hear its door open and slam shut, or see the driver approach.  

When a fist pounds lightly against his window, Castiel startles violently, baring his fangs and lashing out.  The sharp pain of his knuckles rapping against the car door snaps him back into focus.  He zeroes in on the man watching him from the other side of the glass.

His hackles rise despite the fact that he senses no threat in the man’s expression.  It’s almost a relief to feel something other than aching grief, which helps to calm him down.  It only takes a glance to see the “Singer Salvage” patch on the man’s coat, and the last of his aggression drains away.  

He offers what he hopes is a friendly smile and reaches to open the door.  The man steps back, giving him room to step out of the car.  The rain had stopped at some point while Castiel waited, but the wind had picked up in its stead and the temperatures had dropped significantly, causing their breath to cloud between them only to be swept away almost instantly by the wind.  

Castiel pulls his coat tighter around himself.  “You must be Dean.”

The man has been scowling at him, but it fades slightly at Castiel’s words.  He dips his chin in silent acknowledgement, then gestures at the tow truck.

Castiel follows the motion with his eyes, but looks right back at Dean.  “Do you need my help hooking it up?”

With a shake of his head, Dean gestures at the truck again.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says, squinting through the deepening gloom of evening.  “I don’t understand.”

Dean rolls his eyes and trudges through the puddles until he’s standing next to the passenger door of the tow truck.  He opens the door and deliberately points at Castiel, then at the truck’s cab.

Understanding dawns and Castiel wonders why Dean didn’t just say what he wanted.  But then he remembers Bobby’s warning that Dean doesn’t talk to anyone.  Castiel has met his fair share of stoics, but he’s never met anyone who outright refused to speak.  

It doesn’t matter though.  Dean is offering him a warm place to sit while he waits for the car to get pulled up into the truck’s flat bed.  Despite Dean’s odd invitation, Castiel is happy to accept.  He quickly closes the space between them, intent on climbing into the tall truck and taking advantage of the heat.

His foot is on the step and he’s about to boost himself up into the truck’s cab when his sinuses clear just enough for him to catch an almost buttery scent.  His head whips around, and he stares hard at Dean, because it couldn’t possibly be…

He leans forward and inhales through his nose, as much as he’s capable.  The buttery scent is accompanied by something sweet, and it reminds him of fluffy golden pancakes.  “You’re an omega,” he says on a soft exhale.

A snarl snaps him out of it, and he looks up to meet angry green eyes.  Dean’s fangs are bared, and his muscles bunched.  

Castiel’s eyes widen, half in surprise at his own poor manners, and half in awe of the creature in front of him.  He’s never met a male omega before.  He’d always assumed they would be sweet and mild natured like his sisters and cousins, and the omegas in popular fictions.  But Dean is magnificent in his vicious stance of self defense.  He looks exactly like the mythical werewolf their species is said to have evolved from, poised to attack with teeth and claws, and Castiel’s own hackles rise in response.  Not due to fear, but in a primal urge to exert dominance.

He immediately steps back, putting more space between them and lowering his eyes respectfully.  This is not a territorial dispute, and they are not the beasts many humans claim Weres to be.  He was being rude by calling out Dean's secondary gender, but he was going far and beyond what was acceptable by scenting the man.

Dean's low growl trails off, and after a moment he makes a soft _whuff_ noise which Castiel takes as permission to look back up.  Dean is still eying him warily, but he appears to have accepted Castiel's submission.  He points at Castiel, then the truck's cab.

With a nod and a small smile that feels strange on his own lips - he hasn't had reason to smile very much lately - Castiel follows the wordless order and climbs up into the truck.  Once he's settled in the seat, Dean closes the door and the heat blowing from the truck's vents immediately starts to sink into him.

Shivers begin to plague him, his body's way of scolding him for exposing himself to the elements for too long.  He hadn't even recognized how cold he was getting.  He holds his icy fingers over the vent on the dashboard and sighs in relief.

Immediately his sinuses begin to tingle.  He tries to hold back as long as he can, but biology overrides his wishes and he's overtaken by a sneezing fit.  It leaves him feeling fuzzy, like wool is packed to overflowing inside his head.  There's no doubt, he's caught a cold.

A few hours ago, that would have just been a fleeting thought, barely acknowledged before fading back into the white noise of his brain, but now he feels a twinge of irritation.  On top of everything that has happened to him recently, he has to get sick as well.  Of course.

He sighs out his annoyance and flips his hands so the heated air is blowing over the backs.  At least he can take small comfort in the fact that he's regaining feeling in his fingers.

The clank of chains and the whine of a motor pulls his attention away from his misery.  He is tempted to turn and watch Dean work, but he doesn't want to cause further offense by staring.  It's a habit he's aware makes people feel uncomfortable, and he's used it many times to his advantage, even when he's not aware that he's doing so.  But he already feels guilty for his earlier behavior and doesn't wish to make it worse.

Despite the fact that he no longer feels like an ice cube, a shudder races through him at the memory of Dean's fierce growl.  Castiel has always been more attracted to males, and Dean is certainly a beautiful example of one, no matter his species.  Glittering green eyes with a hint of omega gold around the pupils, surrounded by long lashes, strong bones in sharp angles still somehow looking pretty under a day or two's worth of stubble.  Beautiful straight teeth, the canines sharp and dangerous.  

Castiel wonders what they would feel like against his jugular...

... _no,_ he _doesn't._ What the Hell is wrong with him?  He's never felt such a loss of control over his thoughts around an attractive man.  And there are many in his social circle, some of whom might be considered even more handsome.

A buttery scent memory fills his brain, and his eyes fall closed.  They pop back open when the truck rocks slightly, and he silently berates himself.  Yes, Dean's scent is lovely, but he should still have better control of himself.  He's not one of _those_ alphas.

He's not like his brothers.

That thought makes it easier to steel himself against his baser instincts, and by the time Dean finishes loading his car into the flatbed and joins him in the truck's cab, he's able to give the handsome omega a friendly smile.  It feels less odd than the last one, more like something that he does often.  He _did_ smile often and freely before… well, _before._

 _“_ Thank you,” he says softly.

Dean gives him a neutral glance, and doesn't answer.  Instead he turns his attention to releasing the safety brake and pulling away from the side of the road.  

Castiel ignores the tiny prick of hurt the dismissal gives him, but he ignores it.  Bobby warned him what to expect and not to take it personally, so he does his best not to.

After a moment of silence, Dean reaches for the stereo and turns it on.  Castiel recognizes Van Halen even though he doesn't remember the name of the song.  For some reason that makes him smile again.  

Smiling is nice.  He'd forgotten.

The truck is warm, the music is enjoyable, and even Dean's silent presence is comforting despite the friction between them earlier.  The only thing that detracts from the peaceful atmosphere is the fact that Castiel’s nose has started to run.  He sniffs every few minutes, wishing he had a handkerchief or something to-

Dean reaches across him and pops open the truck’s glove box.  He pulls out a little plastic packet and holds it out to Castiel.

It’s a packet of tissues.  Grateful beyond measure, Castiel accepts the offering and pulls one free.  Embarrassment causes heat to prick his cheeks - although it may be the start of a fever, he’s not sure - but it doesn’t stop him from blowing his nose.  Some of the pressure in his sinuses is relieved, but only temporarily.  

“I appear to have spent too long in the cold.” His voice sounds nasally and strange because of his congestion, and talking makes his throat hurt.

Dean turns his attention from the road just briefly, giving Castiel another glare, but this one seems concerned.  He still doesn’t speak, but there’s a question in his eyes.  * _You gonna be okay?*_

The slight drawl comes directly from Castiel’s imagination, of course.  He has no idea what Dean sounds like, but for some reason he feels like Dean wouldn’t speak as properly as Castiel does.  Maybe it’s something in the way he moves, but Castiel imagines his speech would be riddled with dropped letters and contractions.

“I must be getting sick,” Castiel sighs wearily.  He leans back in the seat and let’s his head fall against the back window of the truck.  “I suppose I’ll need to find a place to rest it out.”

From the corner of his eye he catches Dean looking at him again.  He expects questions, but none come.  The drive continues in silence other than the music on the radio interrupted every so often by local commercials.  

The fatigue that he has been fighting finally gets its hooks into him, because the next thing Castiel is aware of is the crunch of gravel under the truck as it slows to a stop.  He blinks gummy eyes and lifts his head.  It’s dark, and he can’t see much in the single lamp on a pole nearby, especially since it has started raining again.  He can make out a large painted sign that says “Singer Salvage” under the lamp, and what appears to be fences behind it.  The truck is parked next to a large house with a covered porch that sags with age.

Dean parks the truck and turns off the engine.  He nudges his knuckles against Castiel’s shoulder to get his attention, and then points at the house.  Then for good measure, he points at Castiel, then back to the house.  

Just then a porch light comes on, illuminating the house’s door as it swings open.  An older man in a ballcap and a wheelchair looks out into the darkness.  Dean gestures again, this time accompanying the movement with an annoyed huff.  Taking the - much more obvious this time due to familiarity - hint, Castiel gets out of the truck and hurries through the rain and up the porch stairs.

The man in the doorway gives him an unimpressed once-over.  “You’re Steve Castle?”

It takes a few seconds for Castiel to recognize the name.  Then he jerks his head in what is probably an overly eager nod.  “Yes.  Yes, I’m Steve.  You can call me Steve.”

Bobby’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t question Castiel’s odd behavior.  “Well come on in, Steve.  No reason for you to be standing out here in the cold.”  He deftly turns the wheelchair and moves further into the house.

Since he really has no other choice, Castiel follows him inside.  Bobby leads him through a narrow entry hall and past an office lined with shelves stuffed with books.  There’s a fireplace behind the office’s desk, and a lovely fire crackles away.  He only gets a glimpse of the room though, before Bobby leads him into the kitchen.  

He pulls out a chair and gestures at it in invitation.  “Have a seat, Steve.  Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you.”  

The skeptical look comes back.  “You sure?”

Castiel nods, and forces another smile.  It takes more effort than the ones he gave Dean.  Bobby doesn’t exactly make him nervous, but he’s eyeing Castiel like he knows more about him than he should.  And because his sinuses are still blocked up, Castiel can’t scent anything about his mood or his emotions.  He can’t even tell if Bobby is a Human or a Were, and it leaves him feeling skittish and vulnerable.  “Yes, I’m sure.  But thank you.”

“Alright, Dean’ll be the one takin’ a look at your car, but it’s probably too late for him to do anything about it tonight.  I have a loaner you can use to get into town if you need it though.”

“How far is it to town?” He should probably find out what town it is, although he really doesn’t care where he is as long as his brothers don’t find him.  He’s fairly certain Gabriel won’t be angry at him.  But the eldest three?  Castiel is better off disappearing forever than facing their wrath.

“Depends on if you plan on continuing up the canyon or want to go back down to the city.”

Castiel wasn't exactly paying attention to where he was going when he left California.  He'd just planned on driving until he was lost, because if he couldn't tell where he was, that would make it even harder for his brothers to find him.  He only vaguely remembers passing through Salt Lake City and deciding to turn off the main freeway near the mountains and that had been hours ago.  

The steep climb on the winding highway he'd found himself on had strained his car’s capabilities as well as his driving skills.  The thought of going back through those curves and switchbacks in the dark on such a step incline that he'd probably have to ride the breaks the whole way is not a pleasant one.  

And while a city might be a good place to hide in the crowd, the idea of being exposed to so many eyes makes him twitchy.  He grimaces and shakes his head.  “I won't be returning to the city.”

Bobby opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by the slam of the front door, followed closely by Dean striding into the kitchen.  He glances at Castiel, expression dark, then turns to Bobby.  His hands come up and start moving gracefully through a series of motions that Castiel recognizes as sign language.

Castiel wishes he'd known Dean couldn't speak.  It might have made the first few moments of their communication much easier, although Castiel’s knowledge of ASL is limited to _thank you_ and _I love you._  Only the _thank you_ have done him any good, but at least he would have been less confused.

With a grunt and a sigh, Bobby turns to Castiel to relay the message.  “Looks like you won't be going anywhere tonight.  That rain just turned to snow and it's too dangerous to be out on the roads.  I've got a spare room you can bunk in for the night.”

Next to him, Dean also turns to watch him, and Castiel wonders if he's deaf or just mute.  Does he need to read Castiel's lips? He may have turned the stereo on in the truck just for Castiel’s benefit.  Castiel didn’t think Dean had been watching him every time he spoke, but he hadn’t been paying very close attention.  Just in case, he makes sure to enunciate carefully for Dean's benefit.  “That's very kind of you.  Thank you.”  He touches his chin and brings his hand forward, thanking Dean in his own language along with Bobby.

Dean snorts and one corner of his lips pull up in a sardonic smile.  He taps Bobby’s shoulder to get his attention and signs without looking away from Castiel.  He ends whatever he's saying with the thank you sign.

“You get that?”  Bobby asks.

“I'm afraid not,” Castiel says with a half-wincing smile.  “I only know ‘thank you’.”

Dean huffs and rolls his eyes.  His hands move again and whatever he says makes Bobby take his ball cap off and smack Dean in the arm with it.

“Now he's just being a prick, but what he said before is that he can hear you so signing isn't necessary, but thanks.”  Bobby says this while glaring up at Dean who looks completely unrepentant.  He settles his cap back over his salt and pepper hair and turns a kinder expression on Castiel.  “Boy can't speak, but that don't mean he doesn't talk shit.  Most of the time I just ignore his smart ass.”

This time Dean smacks Bobby’s shoulder.

To his utter surprise, Castiel laughs.  It feels _good._ He hasn't had a reason to genuinely laugh for a while, and he didn't think he'd find reason any time soon.

But the laugh is cut off abruptly by a coughing fit.  It takes a long moment to regain control of his spasming lungs, and when he does, his throat aches and his nose is running again.

A hand on his shoulder brings his attention to Dean standing above him offering a glass of water.  He's frowning but it's not the dark glare from before. It's concern and maybe a hint of annoyance.  Castiel's imagination fills in the blanks. * _You're not taking care of yourself*_.

It's a ridiculous fantasy that Dean cares about him, but Castiel is too tired and too sick and too starved for kindness so he let's himself believe it for the moment.  He accepts the water with a grateful smile.  His voice comes out strange and nasally because of his congestion.  “Thank you.”

Dean's eyes warm and his lips tick up slightly.  He steps back and signs something.

“He's gonna set up your room,”  Bobby translates.

And then Dean is gone, leaving Castiel alone with Bobby.  Castiel sips at the water in silence.  It had a slight metallic tang, and it's not cold, but it feels good to drink it.  He's parched, which is probably contributing to his sore throat.  Even as he thinks that, his stomach rumbles, reminding him that he hasn't eaten in far too long.

Despite coming down with a cold, he seems to be feeling more like a normal person since he's been forced to act like one around Dean and Bobby.

Bobby notices the growl of his stomach.  “We got some leftovers Dean can heat up for you.”

“That isn't-”

“Don’t tell me what’s necessary in my own house, boy,” Bobby snaps, but there’s not a lot of heat behind it.  

A blush rises up under Castiel’s cheeks.  “Then I guess more thanks are in order.”

Bobby’s lips twitch, and they sit in companionable silence for a moment.  Eventually the clump of boots announce Dean’s return, and Bobby spins his wheelchair.  “I’m gonna leave you boys to each other.  The damn weather is making my old bones ache, and sitting in this wheelchair ain’t helping.  Y’all have a good night.” Dean signs something, and Bobby grunts at him.  “ _I’m_ not the one that needs your help right now.”  And then he’s rolling out of the room.

Dean huffs, his expression full of fond exasperation as he watches Bobby leave.  But the warmth drops from his eyes when he turns back to Castiel.  He tilts his head and lifts one tawny eyebrow in query.

It’s getting easier to interpret Dean’s expressions.  “Bobby said you had some leftover dinner that I could have.”

Dean nods and crosses the kitchen to the fridge.  He opens it and bends down to grab something while Castiel averts his eyes from the perfect curve of his ass under tight denim, keenly aware that if he becomes even slightly aroused that Dean will scent it in the room.  Luckily his body obeys his mind, or he’s too sick for his hormones to change, and Dean doesn’t act like he notices anything wrong when he finishes raiding the fridge.  

It’s impossible not to watch Dean as he prepares a meal for Castiel.  He moves with a graceful economy of motion that is fascinating, and soon he’s got a plate full of what looks like meatloaf and mashed potatoes in the microwave and he’s cleaning up and putting things away.  He finishes just in time for the timer to beep, and he slides a drawer open, grabs a fork and stabs it into the mashed potatoes before offering the plate to Castiel.

It looks delicious despite the fact that Castiel can’t smell it.  He gives Dean a grateful smile and pulls the plate closer.  Suddenly he’s ravenous, and he scoops up a forkful of potatoes, intending to shove it into his mouth.

He’s stopped by Dean’s hand on his wrist.  The touch freezes him instantly.  The cuff of his shirt separates their skin, and he wishes the cloth wasn’t there so he could feel Dean’s fingertips.  

Dean makes a warning sound, not quite a growl, but it makes Castiel snap out of his inappropriate thoughts.  He opens his mouth to apologize, but the warning wasn’t for Castiel’s reaction to the touch.  Dean only gestures at his plate and then waves a hand at it.  Steam rising up from the food flows away in the little current of wind Dean generated.  Dean points at the food and then holds the finger up.  * _Let it cool for a minute*._

Tension eases from Castiel’s shoulders.  “Thank you, Dean.  I’ll let it cool down.”

Dean nods once and turns away, taking Castiel’s empty water glass with him.  He busies himself at the sink, and returns a moment later to set it next to Castiel’s plate, full again to the brim.  Then he goes to a cupboard over the stove and digs through some bottles until he finds what he’s looking for.  He brings a green and blue box and offers it to Castiel.

It’s NyQuil gelcaps.  Castiel accepts the box with a sigh of relief.  His symptoms are steadily growing worse, and he’s afraid he’s in for a somewhat miserable night.  “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean huffs * _you’re welcome*_ and then sits down in the chair across from Castiel.  He watches closely as Castiel pops two pills free of the foil wrapper and swallows them down with a large portion of the water.  Satisfaction gleams in his eyes when Castiel sets the glass back down.

“Do you think I’ve let it cool down long enough?” Castiel asks.  He gets a combination of a nod and a shrug and takes that as permission to continue at his own risk.  He picks the fork back up and takes a bite.  

Despite the fact that his sense of smell and taste are diminished by his cold, he can tell the potatoes are probably delicious.  It’s a shame that he can’t get the full experience, but the heat sinks into his throat, soothing the ache, and it’s the best meal he’s eaten in several days.  Under Dean’s watchful eye he cleans his plate.  He enjoys the silent company even though he should probably feel uncomfortable under the steady stare.

After he’s finished Dean whisks his dirty dishes away and puts them in the sink and then flaps his hands at Castiel until he gets the hint and gets up from the table.  Dean leads him upstairs to a bedroom that holds a twin sized bed made up with a green and white quilt and a fluffy pillow, and a dresser with a large mirror against the opposite wall.  

Through the window across from the door, Castiel can see fat snowflakes falling through light from a lamp on a pole as tall as the house.  When he crosses the room to look outside, he can’t see much other than the snow and the lamp post, but he thinks he sees a fence with snow-covered cars behind it.  Looking down he can see Dean’s truck with Castiel’s car still chained to the flatbed.

Dean steps up close to him and grabs a cord next to the window and lowers the blinds partway, looking at Castiel in question.  * _Should I lower them?_ *  When Castiel nods his agreement he lets the cord slide through his fingers until the outside world and the light from the lamp post is blocked from view.  Then he moves away and picks up something from the dresser, which turns out to be a t-shirt and pajama pants.

“This is a little above and beyond for a tow company,” Castiel teases lightly when accepts the clothing from Dean.  His heart warms when his words earn him a snort and an eyeroll.

Dean pauses at the door as he’s leaving and taps his forehead in a little salute * _g’night_ * and then Castiel is alone.  He changes, and crawls under the quilt.  The NyQuil is already starting to seep through his veins, and his sinuses are clearing up a little.  

He falls asleep with the scent of sweet cream butter filling his head.


	2. Chapter 2

It's creepy as hell to stand outside a door and listen to the movement on the other side, but Dean can't bring himself to move away after he shuts it behind him.  He refrains from pressing his ear to the wood, but he still leans close.  The shuffle of shoes across the floor and the squeak of bedsprings on the other side wouldn't be audible to a human, but his sensitive Were ears pick them up easily.  

He stays until he no longer hears movement, and resists the urge to go in and check on the Alpha and make sure he's comfortable.  Steve Castle is a stranger, but Dean's instinct to care for his pack is roiling inside him.  

Is he warm enough?  Should Dean find him an extra blanket?  Maybe he should get some water to leave in the room in case Steve wakes up coughing.

He huffs out through his nose and shakes his head in disgust.   _Not pack,_ he thinks firmly to himself.  But it's still an effort to step away from the door.

The Alpha's scent still lingers in his senses, cedar and Autumn-ripe apples, and it's nice, real nice, but Dean's sure that it's the tang of illness underneath that is triggering his caretaking instincts.  The way it punched him in the gut the first time he got a whiff of it means nothing.  Nothing at all.  Instant scent attraction is movie magic, not something that happens in real life.  It's about as likely as him sprouting fur and floppy ears during the full moon and running around howling like an idiot.

But he still feels a twinge of something under his sternum as he walks away from the guest room and heads downstairs to check on Bobby.  

He finds the old Human in his study, wheelchair pulled a little too close to the fire.  The storm must be pure torture for him.  He lost use of his legs and most of the feeling in them years ago, but what little he does feel is not pleasant on a good day.  Winter is the worst, but he refuses to leave Silverton for warmer climes, even though Dean has offered to go with him so he won't be lonely.

That offer always earns Dean an acid glare and a tirade on how Bobby doesn't need a damn babysitter.  Dean ignores Bobby's threats to fire him from the shop and kick him out, because even if Bobby meant it, Dean would just keep showing up.  And Sheriff Mills wouldn't lift a finger to make him leave if Bobby tried to have him arrested for trespassing as he constantly says he'll do.

Dean enters the room, eyeing the nearly empty bottle of rotgut sitting on the edge of Bobby's desk.  He should cut him off soon, but he doesn't want to start a fight while there's a guest in the house, so he doesn't say anything.  If Bobby opens a new bottle, Dean’ll do something about it, but lets it go for the moment.

The crappy little tv in the corner is on, tuned to the news, so Dean knocks on the wall next to the entrance to make sure Bobby knows he's there.

Bobby looks up and grunts a wordless greeting.  “He settled in ok?”

Dean lifts his hands.  “ _The medicine knocked him out.”_

“Good.”

“ _Yeah, he needs it.  Poor guy looks like hell.”_

Bobby gives him a Look that makes Dean's hackles rise.  “Mhm.  Good thing you're around to take care of him.”

Dean scowls even as heat flushes his cheeks and his hands jerk with agitation as he signs.  “ _What's that supposed to mean?”_

 _“_ I'm Human, not stupid,” Bobby says, which doesn't actually answer the question, the ornery old cuss.  Before Dean can protest - vehemently, if given the chance - Bobby gestures at the tv.  “You seen the news yet?”

Dean doesn't want to talk about the news, which he _hasn't_ seen because he's been working all day _,_ but he doesn't want to talk about the alpha upstairs either so he allows the subject change.  He comes further into the room so he can see the tiny screen.  He's about to give Bobby shit about buying something newer that won't strain his eyes, but then the headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen catches his attention.  

_Michael Novak arrested for Were slave trafficking._

Holy shit.  He quickly walks over to the tv and cranks up the volume.

“... after the arrest of his twin, Lucifer, Michael Novak was detained by air marshals before he could board an international flight that would have taken him out of United States jurisdiction…”

Eyes glued to the image of the man who is responsible for the near destruction of the Winchester family, Dean listens to the news anchor through a growing buzz in his ears.  Images behind her show Michael handcuffed and being led through a crowd outside the airport and being carefully deposited in the back of a police car as she drones on about the Novak business empire and how the this scandal will affect stock prices, blah blah blah.

Scandal.  Right.  Because having Were alpha and omega children kidnapped from their homes and selling them to breeding cults is no worse than having the audacity to launder a few million dollars so he can install gold toilets in his fancy personal learjet.  Fucking _scandal._

He doesn’t realize that he’s growling low in his throat until Bobby snaps at him.  “Don’t wolf out, boy.  This is a good thing.”

Dean turns enough that Bobby can see him signing, resisting the urge to flip him off before he says his piece.  “ _That motherfucker is going to walk, and you know it.  His lawyers-”_

“Won’t be able to get him out of it this time,” Bobby interrupts.  “Not with the evidence that was brought against him this time.”

Dean tilts his head in question.

“It was an insider.”  Bobby turns his wheelchair so that he can reach something on his desk.  He pulls a folder stuffed so full that it doesn’t fold shut properly out from under a couple newspapers and hands it to Dean.  “Frank dug this up and sent it to me about twenty four hours ago, before the news started reporting it.  He didn’t even have to hack anything to get it.”

Frank Deveraux is fucking scary when it comes to hacking government files.  Dean is half afraid that Frank knows how often he wanks just by his porn history, and the few times he’s talked to the guy, he’s spent the whole time wondering if Frank is judging him for it.  His hands are full, so he just lifts a questioning brow at Bobby.

“Read it, ya idjit,” Bobby prompts.  But he starts to explain as Dean flips through the files.  “Apparently someone high up in Novak Enterprises sent this out to every major newspaper and tv station in the country, along with the FBI, and the police stations of all fifty states’ capitol cities at the same time.”

Dean whistles softly.  He doesn’t understand everything he’s reading, but there are things that he recognizes, including pictures of a location he’s far too intimately acquainted with.  The lump that has been lodged in his throat since childhood seems to swell even further when he sees the cages full of Were children.  It’s an effort to breathe normally.

_Cold.  It was always cold.  He’d always thought Hell would be hot, but the bible was wrong.  Hell is a frozen wasteland full of iron bars, and filthy rags for blankets, and the whimpers of the other children-_

With a shuddering exhale, Dean forces the memory away and flips to the next page.  Financial reports, and lists of names, and schedules.  Jesus, whoever did this found _everything._  Not only does the file include proof that Lucifer’s cult followers, the Children of Fenrir, were stealing Were children for their breeding programs, but it also tore down the richest and most respectable family in the United States.

“They haven’t caught Raphael yet,” Bobby says.  “And Gabriel is in the wind.  The youngest brother is missing too, although the evidence doesn’t seem to implicate him in anything.”

Dean snorts.  * _Yeah, right.*_

Bobby shrugs, then gestures at the pile of evidence in Dean’s hands.  “Look at that shit, Dean.  That’s just the stuff I was able to print out before I ran out of printer ink.  That ain’t even a quarter of what Frank sent me.  If Castiel Novak were involved, there would be _something_ about him in there.  There’s even stuff about Gabriel, although it doesn’t look like he was as involved as the oldest three.”

It’s true.  The only mentions of Gabriel are that he funneled money into accounts that were used in some pretty shady ways, but there’s nothing glaringly obvious like with Michael, Lucifer, and Raphael.  And not a damn thing on Castiel Novak.

He finally shuts the folder and drops it on Bobby’s desk so he can free his hands.   _“They’re brothers.  It would be stupid to think he isn’t involved at all.  There’s a reason they call it a Family Business.”_

“True,” Bobby concedes.  “Although there’s another possibility.”

_“What other possibility?”_

Bobby shrugs, and scoops up the folder.  He opens it and starts casually flipping through it, his eyes flicking over the photos and the pages of data.  “Maybe it was Castiel that leaked the info.”

It’s so ludicrous that Dean laughs.  It takes him a moment to regain enough composure to speak, and he has to concentrate on keeping his movement’s clear because his shoulders are still shaking with mirth.  He snaps his fingers to get Bobby to look up at him.   _“Dude, if that’s true, it was probably only so he could save his own ass.  He probably leaked everything but the evidence against himself.”_

“Yeah, you’ve got a point there,” Bobby murmurs.  “I guess that means we better keep a pretty close eye on him.”

That’s so out of left field, that Dean sobers immediately.   _“What?  How are we gonna do that if he’s fallen off the face of the earth?”_

Bobby sets the still open folder on his desk, and opens a drawer near his knee.  He paws through a few folders in there and pulls one out, handing it to Dean without an explanation.

There’s a piece of white tape on the tab of the manilla folder and written on it in Bobby’s neat print is _Castiel J. Novak._ With a sense of foreboding, Dean opens it.  He goes still all over when he sees the photo of Steve Castle staring out at him from the dossier.  

When Dean had first seen Steve- no, _Castiel_ \- sleeping in his car he’d thought the man was good looking.  But when Castiel was startled awake and his eyes flashed bright and blue and his lips had curled back from his fangs in warning, Dean had wanted to get down on all fours and present.  And that was before he’d even gotten a hint of the scent of autumn coming off him in delicious waves.  Once he’d realized there was no threat, Castiel’s vicious snarl had turned into a gentle smile - definitely strained around the edges, but no less kind.  And Dean had felt a twinge of fondness, which was weird as hell since he didn’t even know the guy.

The photo doesn’t do Castiel justice at all.  It’s slightly blurry, obviously taken from a distance and without Castiel’s knowledge.  He looks like he’s walking down the street on his way to a meeting, if the focus in his expression means anything.  But despite the fact that the real life man sleeping upstairs in Bobby’s guest room is almost ethereal in his beauty, he’s still handsome in the picture.  Instead of messy with sleep, his hair is neatly combed, the dark strands highlighted by the sun. The camera doesn’t quite catch the blue of his eyes, and he’s missing the beard stubble that Dean wants so badly to feel against his-

No, no.  Not going there.  The point is that it’s definitely the same guy.  And Dean _made him dinner,_ and _practically tucked him into bed._

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

He wants to go upstairs and smother the bastard in his sleep.  The Novaks _ruined_ his goddamn _life_ , and-

“Don’t make me roll up a newspaper and smack you on the nose with it.”

Dean’s rage redirects and he snarls at Bobby, although there’s no way he’d do anything besides posture at the old man.  The Novaks ruined Dean’s life, but Bobby helped him and his family rebuild.  Despite how close he feels to snapping, Dean can never do anything more than make angry noises at the Human.  

And he knows it, which is why he gives Dean an unimpressed look.  “You done yet, pup?”

With one more growl that is barely more than a grunt, Dean subsides and shrugs.  Heat suffuses his cheeks because of his behavior, but he stubbornly keeps his angry glare in place in an attempt to mask his chagrin over his loss of temper.  

“Good.” Bobby gestures at the folder.  “Castiel Novak is a very private man, despite being one of the Novak brothers.  The information I got there was damn hard to come by.”

Dean looks back down at the photo.  He knew of the youngest Novak brother, but Bobby’s right about there being little information on him.  Unlike his older brothers, Castiel has managed to live outside of their spotlight.  As powerful business men, Michael and Raphael were on magazine covers and on tv doing interviews all the damn time.  Gabriel was known for being the family’s irresponsible playboy.  

And of course Lucifer is well known all over the world.  When he founded his “religion”, he’d been very public about it at first, appearing on talk shows and selling his idea that Weres needed to get back to their roots and breed the humanity out of their genes.  He had started out as a kind-eyed and soft spoken man, dripping with alpha charisma and logical arguments for why Weres needed to purify their bloodlines.  Humans were breeding them out of existence.  They’d lost their closest connection to the moon, their ability to shift under its silver light, and if his followers kept to strict breeding programs then maybe someday their progeny would regain the ability.

Dean has seen some of those early speeches in documentaries, and even though he doesn’t believe in the magical mumbo-jumbo, he can admit that it would be hard to resist the ideas Lucifer was feeding the people.  But over the years Lucifer sounded less and less reasonable, eventually creeping into wild-eyed fanatic territory, and then the people started to lose interest.

That’s when the kidnappings started.  Until now, no one has been able to pin them on Lucifer and his cult because the children were kept hidden until they had been sufficiently brainwashed.  Once they were perfect little Children of Fenrir, no one could ever get them to admit they were kidnapped.  IF they were even seen by the outside world, since Lucifer’s followers lived in self contained compounds out in the middle of nowhere.

Thirty-ish years of news coverage of the powerful Novak brothers, and yet nothing on Castiel.  Nothing except what’s in the folder in Dean’s hands.

He flips through the pages.  Graduated from Harvard.  Works as a contract lawyer for his older brothers.  Regularly donates to charity.  Runs a lot of marathons.  Has a small condo in San Diego near the beach.  Dean pauses on a page about Castiel’s dating history, then quickly passes it, ignoring the odd little zing of joy he feels when he realizes that Castiel prefers male partners.  

Dean reaches the end of the folder, and looks up at Bobby, lifting an eyebrow.  * _That’s it?_ *

“That’s all there is,” Bobby says, correctly interpreting Dean’s reaction.  “So if he’s involved with the world’s largest child kidnapping ring on the planet, he’s done a damn good job of hiding it.”

Dean flips the folder closed and drops it on the desk next to the thicker one with the leaked evidence and raises his hands to sign.   _“Or he’s not involved at all.”_

“Exactly.”

 _“Then what the hell is he doing in Silverton?”_  

“I ain’t got a clue,” Bobby answers with a shrug.

Dean drops his eyes to the folders.  He itches to text Sheriff Mills and turn Castiel in.  As far as he’s concerned, all the Novaks are evil incarnate and they deserve to be lined up in front of a firing squad for what they’ve done.  

But, if there’s the slightest chance that Castiel was never involved, or even more, that he was the one to leak this information to the public and bring down the Novak Empire and the Children of Fenrir, then he’s probably on the run from his brothers’ wrath.  Which would explain his presence in middle-of-goddamn-nowhere-Silverton.  And he’ll need to be protected, because Dean doesn’t doubt for a second that the elder brothers will still have a modicum of power, even from within the most tightly secured super-max prisons.  

He sighs, and glares at Bobby for complicating things with his theories.  

Bobby shrugs again, and reaches up to adjust his ratty old ballcap.  “Who knows?  Maybe we’ll find enough dirt on him to make sure he gets locked up with the rest of his clan.”

That thought makes Dean feel marginally better about the situation.   _“So what are we gonna do?  If he decides to move on after I fix his car, we can’t keep him here.”_

“I’d say we give him a reason to stay.”  He looks meaningfully at Dean.

It takes a moment for the pieces in Dean’s brain to fall into place, and then he waves his hands in front of him while vehemently shaking his head and mouthing _NO._

“It’s obvious as daylight at noon that he has eyes for you, boy.”

_“No!  Let’s just chain him up in the basement and torture him until he says something useful.”_

Bobby gives him a look that is half exasperation, half disappointment.  “We can’t do that.  We _won’t_ do that.”

No, they won’t.  And Dean didn’t really mean it.  He sighs, realizing that Bobby’s right and his idea is the best solution.  Grudgingly he flicks his fingers.   _“Okay.”_

“Don’t look so maudlin,” Bobby teases.  “You don’t have to put out for him.  Just be nice, and give him a reason to stick around.”

_“I hate you.”_

Bobby’s grin is slightly evil.  “I know you do, kid.  I know you do.”

Dean leaves the room before he loses all sense and bites the old coot.

He stomps back upstairs, tempted to unplug Bobby's stair lift on his way back to teach him a damn lesson, but he isn't that much of a dick despite what he likes to make people think.  Which brings him back to the problem of Castiel.  Bobby thinks Dean should encourage his attention, but how the hell is he supposed to do that?

Dean doesn't… do well… with people.  He has a reputation for being prickly, which is the kindest version of what people say about him.

Stopping in front of Castiel's door, he stares hard at the wood.  Castiel definitely has the hots for Dean - that was made obvious when the asshole scented him like a fucking animal - but that won't last long once he gets to know Dean.  And there's no way Dean is going to act like a wilting flower omega to attract a suitable alpha.

He sighs.  Bobby's plan is stupid.

He's about to turn away when he hears a hacking cough from the other side of the door.  His hand is on the knob before his brain catches up to the movement.  The door opens silently on well oiled hinges and Dean pokes his head inside.  Despite the curtains, there is enough light coming in from the lamp post for him to make out the lean body huddled under the blanket.  Castiel is curled on his side, facing Dean, his long legs pulled up close to his chest.

His whole body is trembling.

Dean leaves the door open when he crosses the hall to the linen closet.  He pulls out two knitted blankets that are probably older than he is, but they're well made and he knows from experience that they're warm and soft.  Then he goes back to Castiel's room and enters silent as a shadow.  He knows where all the creaky boards in the floor are and he deftly avoids them so he won't wake Castiel if he's sleeping.

He _is_ sleeping, which Dean realizes in hindsight is a good thing.  Startling a sick alpha is a recipe for a black eye, at the very least.  Dean knows.  Sam's done worse when Dean snuck up on him when they were kids.

He carefully lays the extra layers over Castiel, watching his face carefully to make sure he doesn't wake up.  Once he has the blankets spread out over the sleeping alpha, Dean has every intention of walking back out of the room, shutting the door behind him, and heading for his own room even though it's not really that late.  But instead he stays next to bed for a long moment, watching while Castiel’s shivers begin to subside.

Castiel Novak.  Just thinking the name makes Dean want to howl with fury and tear at flesh with fang and claw.

And yet…

Dean squats down next the bed so his face is even with Castiel's.  He inhales deeply through his nose.  Cedar chips and freshly sliced apples.  His eyes slip shut and he lets the scent fill him, wondering how much more powerful it will be without the tang of illness.

His eyes snap back open and he stares at Castiel, trying to see the evil he knows is there.  But Castiel's features are innocent in sleep, despite the small frown distorting them.  Dean lifts a hand, letting it hover for a moment before he allows himself to run the tips of fingers over the ridge between Castiel's brows.  It smoothes away under his touch, and his fingers move, tracing the lines at the corners around his eyes and the curve of his cheekbone.  The pad of his thumb slides down to rest just under the curve of Castiel's bottom lip.

He is beautiful in the shadows, just as he was in the light.  Now that he's not frowning, he looks peaceful and kind.  Angelic.  Despite who he is.

It would take so little to snap this Novak brother's neck.  Right now.  Getting rid of the body would not be too difficult because the salvage yard behind Bobby's house has a million places to stash it.  No one knows that he's in Silverton.

It would be so easy…

Castiel sucks in a wheezy breath, and turns his face until he's nuzzling Dean's palm.  Dean freezes, eyes wide and heart pounding painfully.  He doesn't move his hand away, letting Castiel brush dry lips against his skin for a moment before he settles deeper into the pillow, his mouth and nose no longer cupped in Dean's hand.

Long black lashes lift, and Castiel looks straight at Dean.  

He smiles.  “Hello, Dean.”

Dean's mouth opens, and although he expects nothing to happen, the perpetual lump in his throat shrinks enough for him to squeeze out words.  His voice is barely more than a whisper, rough with disuse, and it breaks before he can form everything he wants to say.  “Hey, Cas.”  

Castiel's smile widens, baring his teeth and wrinkling his nose.  Then his features relax, his eyes slide closed, and he goes back to sleep.

Dean's jaw hangs loose and he goggles at the sleeping alpha for several long minutes.  He licks his lips, testing their familiarity against his tongue.

It takes an effort to stand and move away from the bed.  He leaves the room as silently as he entered and escapes to his own room straight across the hall.  He moves through the motions of getting ready for bed, but he doesn’t go to sleep since it's a few hours before he normally does.  Instead, he pulls out his phone and brings up the text app so he can talk to his brother about Bobby's plan.

He stares at the lit screen, not seeing the tail end of his last conversation with Sam.  His mind flips back and forth between the image of Castiel's face relaxed in sleep and a movie reel of all the young alphas and omegas the news had been showing being pulled from filthy cages and passed to waiting paramedics while the anchor droned on about the fall of the Novak empire.

Who is the real Castiel Novak?  The sleeping angel?  Or the cruel devil?

Eventually he focuses on his phone and taps out a message to Sam.  They talk late into the night, until Dean realizes that he hasn't heard Bobby come up the stairs.  He tells Sam goodnight and goes downstairs to find Bobby asleep at his desk.  

The first bottle of whiskey is empty and another open next to it.  Dean caps the bottle, and then pushes Bobby’s chair to the stairs.  The old Human doesn't rouse from his soaked slumber as Dean fastens the chair to the lift, although he does mumble incoherently when Dean transfers him from his chair to his bed.  Other than a whispered “Karen" when Dean is undressing him, it's all nonsense.

Dean tucks Bobby in, and goes back to his room.  But not before he peeks in on Castiel one last time before going to his own bed.  He falls asleep with the hand Castiel kissed cupped over his nose, the cedar and apples still vibrant through his own buttery scent and the whiskey tainted Human scent of Bobby.

He dreams of empty cages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, chapter 2 already! I'm probably messing up my writing schedule and making it impossible to keep on track, but I couldn't stop writing yesterday and today. So here you go :D
> 
> So here's a little bit of Castiel's background, although obviously it's from an outsider POV. I'll introduce more about the Children of Fenrir as I go along. I'll answer questions about it, but they may be spoilery, so if you're the type to read other people's comments, I'll put a big SPOILERS at the beginning if I'm going to say anything that I think might give away info on future chapters.


	3. Chapter 3

When he wakes to the bright light of morning filtering through the dusty curtains, Castiel groans.  And then wishes he hadn't when the banked fire in his throat roars to life.  It takes a monumental effort to open his eyes, and he only half manages it because his eyelids feel like a hundred pounds.  

At first he doesn't remember where he is.  The room is much smaller than the one in his condo, with just enough room for the bed he's lying in and the dresser against the opposite wall, which is wood paneling.  His interior decorator would be horrified.  But then again, Balthazar had been horrified when Castiel moved from New York to San Diego because _there isn't any culture out there, Cassie, just oodles of money and no one with the sense to use it properly._ Wood paneling would probably give the poor man a heart attack.

His eyes wander aimlessly around the unfamiliar room until the events of the last few days start to trickle into his fever addled brain.  Hitting send on the message ordering his people to start the distribution of information that would destroy everything his family had built, followed by the nerve racking “escape” from the office he'd worked in for the last six years.  It had been terrifying walking past offices and through lobbies where any one of the employees could be one of Lucifer’s acolytes or one of Michael and Raphael’s lackeys.  He was sure every eye on him was an enemy.

Then driving for hours, only stopping to change out his license plate, to fill his gas tank, and when the engine overheated on a lonely mountain road.  A green eyed man - an _omega_ that smelled sweet and heavenly - had towed his car and brought him here, to fix his car and weather out the storm.

Closing his eyes against the light and the fatigue weighing them down, he pulls forth the memory of Dean's buttery sweetness.  It makes him think of lazy Sunday mornings, eating pancakes while still in his pajamas.  It's much nicer to think about than whether or not his brothers escaped or if they know yet who betrayed them, so he focuses on the fantasy, adding a couch with fat cushions, a tv playing sitcom reruns, and a pretty male omega with green eyes cuddled up to his side.

His throat aches, and he can't breathe through his nose, and his bladder is definitely begging him to get up and see to its demands, but the fantasy holds him for several long minutes.  It would be nice.  Simple.  But his life has never been simple, and it's only become more complicated since he discovered where the discrepancies in the Novak finances stemmed from.  After years of research, and years of planning, now he's faced with years of hiding and running.  All he can ever have is the fantasy.

His eyes open again when there’s a soft knock on the door.  He manages to croak a weak sound that might be _Yes?_ and the doorknob rattles before it swings inward.  And his fantasy peeks around the edge.

When he sees Castiel is awake, Dean leans further in the door.  He points at Castiel, and then holds the fingers up with the tips of his thumb and index finger touching in the sign for OK.  He raised his eyebrows in question.   _*You okay?*_

Castiel isn't sure if that's official sign language, but the question is understandable nonetheless.  He is not okay, but he still struggles to sit up and prove that he's better than he feels.  “Good morning, Dean.”  His voice sounds awful and speaking makes his lungs twinge with the threat of a coughing fit, but he forces a smile.  “I'm fine.  How are you?”

The look Dean gives him is so full of doubt that Castiel doesn't even need words to know that Dean thinks he's full of shit.  Dean points at Castiel again, then circles his index finger around his own face, then holds out his hand with the thumb pointed down.  He grimaces slightly and shakes his head. _*You don't look good.*_

With as bad as he feels, it's no wonder.  Castiel tries to insist that he's alright, but instead, he starts to cough.  When he regains control of himself, he realizes Dean is next to the bed, his palm warm on Castiel's shoulder.  He's frowning, but it's definitely the worried version Castiel saw him use a few times the evening before.

“Maybe I'm not fine,” Castiel admits sheepishly.  After the coughing fit he's tired again and he wants to lie back down.  But his bladder is even more insistent than before, and he needs to get back on the road as soon as possible.  How he's going to do that without his car… maybe he can take Bobby's loaner and send him cash for it later when he's somewhere safe-

He doesn't realize that he's spaced out until Dean snaps fingers in front of his face to get his attention.  Castiel tilts his head back on his shoulders and blinks at Dean, all his worries fading into the background when he gets caught by his gaze.  His eyes truly are beautiful with the flecks of gold among the leafy green surrounded by long lashes.

Dean pulls a smartphone phone of his pocket and starts sliding his finger across the screen.  Then he holds it out for Castiel to see.  There's some kind of notepad app open with a message.   _“You're welcome to rest here while I work on your car.  Might take me a while if I need to order parts.”_

After reading the words, Castiel leans back and shakes his head.  “I couldn't impose.”

Dean types out another message.   _“You have anywhere else to be?”_

As far away from his brothers’ influence as possible.  Although he might need to take a flight to Mars to truly get outside their considerable reach.  At this point a little town in the middle of the mountains is probably his safest option.  Although it would make him feel a little better if he found a place without cell service.  If anywhere like that exists anymore.  He swapped out his SIM card along with his car’s license plate, but it doesn’t feel like enough.  He’s not sure anything will.

Despite the driving urge to escape, he sighs and shakes his head.  “No, I don't.  Not for now.”

A grin spreads across Dean's face and it's like watching the sun come out.  His eyes crinkle at the edges, and his fangs shine white behind pink lips, and Castiel knows deep down that he's really agreeing to stay because his secret fantasy is gaining more details every minute that he spends in Dean's presence.  Which means he can only stay until his car is fixed.  He needs to get the hell out of there before he does something stupid like pouncing on the omega and claiming him as mate.

At least he can't smell him at the moment.  His cold is a small blessing in disguise.

Not that he would ever stoop so low.  But that's all part of the fantasy, and he can never have any of the things he dreams of.

Dean gives him a thumbs up, then types a new message.   _“Do you need anything?”_

“Directions to the bathroom would be enough for now,” Castiel murmurs.

Dean jerks his head in a _follow me_ gesture before heading for the door.  

Castiel drops the blankets from his shoulders, noting there are more than he'd fallen asleep with.  He shoots Dean a sharp look, but the omega only stares back at him, calm and unrepentant.  Deciding it’s not worth addressing, Castiel gets up to follow Dean.

Normally he would feel uncomfortable wearing only pajamas in front of a stranger, but he's too sick to give a damn at the moment, and Dean doesn't seem to think anything is weird about it.  Probably because Dean wasn't raised to wear formal clothing almost constantly.  He's only wearing a pair of ragged jeans that look soft from hundreds of washings and a long sleeved dark gray t-shirt.  His feet are bare against the wood floors.

Castiel wishes he didn't find them as attractive as the rest of the man.  Once again he's grateful that he's too sick for his body to react to the images his brain supplies of kissing along the tendons of Dean's feet until-

A low whistle snaps his attention back up to Dean's face and he's met with a knowing smirk.  His face flushes and he drops his eyes - to the floor, _not_ to Dean's feet.  “My apologies,” he mumbles.

Dean chuckles, which makes Castiel look up at him again.  He winks, and jerks his head again before going out into the hall.

Well at least he no longer seems offended by Castiel's bad behavior.  Maybe he blames Castiel's illness.  Hopefully.

Dean leads him to the bathroom, opens a drawer to show him a supply of extra toothbrushes, and a cupboard above the toilet where the clean towels are.  Then he lifts his eyebrows in question and holds his thumb up.  * _You good?*_

“Yes, thank you.”  Castiel's heart flutters rapidly at Dean's answering smile.

Once he's alone, he sighs out the butterflies in his stomach.  He's never been so affected by an omega before, not even when he's caught their heat scent.  But with just the tiniest whiff of Dean he’s suddenly regressed to the behaviors of a newly presented teenager popping a knot at every delicious smell.  It may be because Dean is male; Castiel appreciates women aesthetically, but rarely finds them as attractive as men.  Having never met a male omega, he has no frame of reference for his reaction.

He's sure the novelty is all there is to it.  Dean is lovely, and smells wonderful, and Castiel’s fascination will surely fade with familiarity. Putting all thoughts of Dean out of his mind he takes care of his body's demands, then takes advantage of Dean's offer to use the shower.

The water is hot, and the spray works out the tension he's been holding in his shoulders for days. After a few minutes in the steam his sinuses clear up enough for him to take a deep breath.  It’s tempting to just stand under the water until it starts to run cold, but he’s a guest here and he doesn’t want to be rude.  So he quickly washes with the generic store brand soap and gets out.  

After drying off, he dresses again in the t-shirt and pajama bottoms Dean loaned him.  But he goes commando, because he can’t bring himself to put on the shorts he’d been wearing since he left his office.  He rolls them up and carries them with him back to his room.

The bag he’d packed and put in his car in preparation for his flight from California is sitting in the center of the bed.  There’s a handwritten note on top which makes Castiel smile when he reads the letters hastily scrawled across the paper.

_Sorry for getting into your stuff but I figured you’d want your own clothes._

He probably should be upset, but the gesture is so kind that he can’t find it in himself to be anything but grateful.  Until he remembers that there’s more than just clothing in that bag.  He drops the letter on the unmade bed and quickly unzips the bag and digs through the neatly folded clothing.  Undisturbed at the bottom are ten stacks of bundled cash.  It’s all he dared to pilfer from the company before he made his escape, because if he could find the money being siphoned off to Lucifer’s compounds, then someone else might question what Castiel is doing stealing from his own family as well.  

A hundred thousand dollars seems like so very little.  But it should be enough to start a new life for himself.

What exactly he’ll do, he has no idea.  He has spent his whole life working for Novak Enterprises.  He’s highly educated, and a formidable contract lawyer that also dabbled in accounting for something to do with his spare time.  But it’s not like he can go back into either of those fields.  He can never present his degree to his employers, or give them any of his employment history.  

He’s Steve Castle now.  And as far as the world knows, he didn’t exist the day before yesterday.

There is a little bit of time to figure it out.  The cash he has should give him at least a few months of breathing room, and maybe he can find someone to fake an identity for him.

He buries the cash under his clothing again, pulling out a pair of clean underwear and stuffing the dirty pair in a side pocket.  He has his own pajamas in the bag, but he decides to keep Dean’s on.  The flannel is soft, and it allows him to indulge in his secret fantasy a little longer.  

After he puts the bag on the floor next to the bed, he sits down on the mattress and closes his eyes.  He allows himself to not think about anything for a few moments, and just rest.  The shower left him feeling refreshed, and although he still feels like hell, for the moment there isn’t anything demanding his attention and it’s nice.

The peaceful moment is interrupted by a knock on the door, and he blinks slowly at the portal for a moment.  His voice is hoarse when he speaks.  “Come in.”

It's Dean again.  The way he peeks around the door before coming in all the way makes Castiel smile.  He looks wary, as if he expected Castiel to be nude.  Were instinct makes Castiel savor the image of displaying himself for Dean's pleasure.  He suppresses the thought immediately and focuses instead on the reason for Dean's visit.

He's carrying a tray with a bowl and a mug with steam rising from the contents.  He comes into the room with his burden and sets it down on the dresser.  He picks up the bowl and brings it to Castiel, offering it to him with an expression that conveys he won't take no for an answer.

Castiel takes the bowl and he's surprised to see oatmeal.  He hasn't had oatmeal for breakfast since… he can't actually remember when.  Probably since the last time he had a nanny.  When she was let go and he had to start fending for himself it had been easier to grab a yogurt and a piece of fruit on the way to whatever activity - usually school - was keeping him busy for the day.  It's a habit he's kept to since at least high school, which seems like a lifetime ago.

He doesn’t know if Dean made it, but the fact that he brought Castiel a warm breakfast makes something squeeze tightly inside his chest.  “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean's lips tilt up slightly, but he stays where he is and watches Castiel expectantly.  Castiel realizes he's waiting for him to actually start eating, so he spoons up a bite.  Instead of being sweetened, the oatmeal is flavored with butter and salt.  It's missing the sweet undertones of Dean's scent, but it still makes his mouth water as it fills his senses.  And despite his illness, he's suddenly ravenous.

He eats embarrassingly fast, but the salt and heat soothes his sore throat, and when he's finished, he feels measurably better.  Dean is watching him when he looks up from his meal, his eyes bright with amusement.  Castiel ducks his head back down, self conscious that Dean witnessed his bad manners again, even if inhaling his food is a far less offensive action than openly scenting an omega.

It's a strange feeling.  He's a skilled lawyer, an alpha, and a member of one of the most powerful families in the country.  He's not used to feeling anything but confident, but he feels stripped of all those things under Dean's eyes.

“I don't think I've ever had oatmeal that wasn't sweetened,” he murmurs, searching for anything to say to break the awkward silence.

Dean whistles to get Castiel to look at him again.  He places his palm over his throat, then points at Castiel's empty bowl, then gives a thumbs up.   _*It's good for your throat.*_

Not only did Dean bring Castiel breakfast, but apparently he made it specifically for treating his illness.  Heat that Castiel knows isn't from his fever or the hot shower suffuses his cheeks.  “Yes, it does feel better.  Thank you.”

Dean's teeth flash in a grin before he takes Castiel's bowl and puts it on the tray.  He brings him the mug, which appears to be filled with tea.  When Castiel takes it Dean points at his own face, circling around his nose and eyes, then holds his thumb up again.

“It's good for my congestion?” Castiel asks.

Dean nods and gestures at the cup.   _*Drink it.*_

Castiel obeys.  While he was eating, the tea cooled down enough that it's no longer steaming, but it's still pleasantly warm when he takes a tentative sip.  Mint and honey.  He immediately takes a larger swallow.  

When he lowers the mug and looks up, Dean gives an approving nod.  He hooks a thumb over his shoulder and grabs the tray from the dresser before he starts to back towards the door.  

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says again before the omega slips away.

Dean waves on his way out and shuts the door behind him.

Castiel looks down at the cup of tea in wonder.  Yesterday Dean had been all scowls and low growls of warning.  He's not sure what changed overnight, but he hopes it means that Dean has forgiven him for his bad behavior the day before.

He savors the rest of his tea, and sets the mug on the dresser before settling back on the bed.  He only intends to rest for a moment, but fatigue pulls at him and he lies down against the pillows.  Sleep overtakes him, and he's unaware of anything for several hours

***

It’s late afternoon when Dean takes a break from scouring the salvage yard for parts that will work in Castiel’s car.  The snow from the night before has started to melt, but it’s still cold enough that he can’t feel his nose or his fingers, and he’s starving so it’s as good a time as any to take a break.  

Besides, he’s fairly certain he’s not going to find what he needs.  Castiel’s Mercedes isn’t brand new, but Bobby certainly doesn’t have anything like it in the piles of junked cars he hoards.  Ordering a part in will probably take a couple days, which will help Bobby’s plan of keeping Castiel around, but Dean had to look anyway.  He hates the idea of wasting time and money on new parts if he can pull them out of the yard to install.

He’s pretty deep inside the maze of junk vehicles, and it takes him a good fifteen minutes to navigate his way back to the house.  By the time he emerges from the fenced area he sees a familiar old pickup pulling into the graveled area in front of the house.  He stops and waits, folding his arms over his chest.

Garth’s grin is sunny enough to melt the rest of the snow when he gets out of the truck, slamming the door shut behind him.  “Heya, Dean!  Man, can you believe that storm?  The almanac said it’d be a longer summer this year, but I think Mother Nature is out to prove it wrong.  Must be all that climate change, huh?”

Dean doesn’t know and doesn’t care.   _“You’re late,”_ he signs.  Then he folds his arms again, tucking his hands under his arms to warm them up.

The admonishment, accompanied by a scowl, doesn’t phase Garth in the least.  He strides across the slush and gravel towards Dean, bright smile still in place.  “Man, I know!  They had part of the canyon shut down last night ‘cause of the snow, and I had to stay down in the valley for another night.”  

He continues rambling on about snow chains laws and 4-wheel drive and how he probably could have made it just fine, but the highway patrol _insisted-_

Dean smacks him not-so-lightly in the arm to get his attention, and then signs _“We have a guest, and he’s sleeping.  Keep it down inside.”_

Somehow Garth manages to smile even brighter.  “A guest?  Do I know them?”

Doubtful.  Dean thought he knew everything there was to know about the Novaks, and even he hadn’t recognized Castiel.  He considers telling Garth what Bobby revealed last night, but decides against it.  Sam had suggested letting Castiel keep his identity a secret so he’ll feel safe, because he’ll hightail it the fuck out of dodge if he senses any kind of threat.  It’s good advice, and the less people who know who Castiel is, the better.

_“No you don’t.  He broke down on the highway last night, and I towed him here just before the snow started.”_

“Wow, good timing.  It would have sucked to be stuck on the side of the road all night in that weather.”

A shiver of unease races down Dean’s spine at the thought of Castiel being trapped in his car all night in the freezing cold.  He immediately wants to rush inside and check on the alpha, even though he knows that he’s perfectly fine.  Irritation is quick to follow.  Castiel Novak is the enemy, and he sure as hell doesn’t need Dean coddling him.

Which he’s been telling himself since he left Castiel’s room that morning, after making sure the alpha had something warm to eat that would help him feel better.  Making him breakfast is just part of the act Bobby asked Dean to perform.  It had nothing to do with Dean’s craving for the scent of cedar and apples when he woke up that morning.  

Garth continues to ramble on about the weather as they head inside, although he does keep his voice low.  Once he’s inside though he inhales deeply through his nose.  “Man, something smells _good._ ”

For a moment, Dean’s hackles go up and he feels a snarl pulling at his lips.  Until Garth makes a beeline for the kitchen and Dean realizes he was referring to the savory smell of stew permeating the house and not the tantalizing undercurrent of autumn that Dean senses as soon as he’s in the house.

What the hell was _that?_ he thinks to himself irritably.  The sudden urge to warn Garth away from the alpha in the house with a possessive display came out of nowhere, and is completely ridiculous because for one, Garth is a beta and could give two shits about alpha pheromones, and for two, that alpha sure as fuck doesn’t belong to Dean.

He’s so disgruntled that he’s scowling when he follows Garth into the kitchen.  Bobby, sitting at the table and reading something on the tablet Sam bought him for Christmas the previous year, looks up and lifts an eyebrow at Dean.  “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

Like he’s going to admit to the real reason.   _“Garth’s back.”_

Bobby snorts and looks over at where Garth has lifted the lid of the crock pot and is sniffing at the stew Dean put together that morning.  “No shit, Sherlock.”

Garth puts the lid back and turns to grin at Bobby.  He trundles across the room and bends down to wrap the older man in a hug despite sputtered protests.  “Heya, Bobby!  Did you miss me?”

“You were only gone for two extra days, ya idjit.” But Bobby’s cheeks are flushed, and even Dean knows he likes the attention.

And of course his bluster doesn’t put Garth off in the least.  “I missed you too, Bobby.  I sure am glad to be back.  So is Bess, although she was having such a good time visiting with her family.”

Yet another reason Garth wouldn’t be interested in the alpha in the house.  He’s got a pretty omega wife, and they’re so disgustingly in love with each other that sometimes it makes Dean want to gag.  

But again, Dean has no reason to feel possessive, so it’s a moot point.

Bobby makes the mistake of asking Garth how his trip was, and gets trapped into listening to a gushing story about how nice it is to meet other Weres that attend the same church, and how much he enjoyed listening to his father-in-law’s sermons again, blah blah blah.  Dean’s never been much for religion; he thinks it’s a load of horse shit to be honest.  But it’s Garth and Bess' thing, and hey, to each their own.  As long as he doesn’t start spouting that “Weres need to breed true bloodlines” crap, Dean just ignores it.

His mind wanders to the alpha upstairs, and he wonders if he’s feeling any better.  Dean’s been back in the house a few times since morning and so far Bobby hasn’t said anything about him coming downstairs.  Dean had checked on him once and found him asleep and shivering again.  He’d covered him with the blankets and brought another cup of tea up and left it on the dresser in case Castiel woke up coughing again.  Did he drink it?  Is he hungry again?  If Dean is starved, Castiel must be ready to eat again too.

He’s starting to consider taking a bowl of stew upstairs to him as an excuse to check on him when his thoughts are interrupted by Garth’s happy crow of greeting.  “Well good morning, sleepyhead!”

Dean turns to find Castiel hovering in the kitchen’s entryway.  He’s still wearing the pajamas Dean loaned him and his hair is sticking up in every direction because he probably fell asleep while it was still wet.  He looks ruffled and sleep-warm, and Dean feels a pang of need so strong that he can smell it on himself.  Luckily no one else seems to notice.  Bobby’s human, so he doesn’t have the nose for it, and Garth is too focused on their guest.  Castiel may still be stuffed up, because he’s breathing through his mouth, and he’s eyeing them all warily.  Especially Garth who hurries around the table and approaches the alpha with hand outstretched for a shake.  

It’s always amusing to see someone meet Garth for the first time.  It’s the same thing every time.  Garth is effusively cheerful, and the recipient of his attention is baffled by the literal ray of sunshine chattering away at them.  Castiel is no different.  He frowns at Garth in confusion, but accepts his handshake.

“I’m Garth Fitzgerald the fourth, but you can just call me Garth.”

“I’m C- uh… Steve Castle.”

Dean chuckles when Castiel tries to retrieve his hand, but Garth just grips tighter and pulls Castiel further into the kitchen.  He guides Castiel to a chair while chattering about how nice it is to meet a new alpha, and “Oh goodness are you sick?  My Bess makes the best tea for a cold, but it doesn’t beat Dean’s stew, you’re going to have some aren’t you?”

Castiel blinks twice at Garth before he responds.  “I… yes…”

“Just you wait there, I’ll-”

Dean cuts Garth off by slapping the table to get his attention before signing.   _“I got it.  Give the man some space to breathe.”_  He gets up and pulls some bowls out of the cupboard.  He might as well feed everyone while he’s at it.

Of course Garth doesn’t listen to Dean.  He immediately zeroes back in on Castiel.  “So what brings you to Silverton, Steve?”

Curious about how “Steve” is going to handle that line of questioning, Dean pauses and looks over his shoulder.  Castiel’s eyes bounce from Garth to Bobby to Dean who lifts a questioning eyebrow.  

He blinks at Dean for a moment before turning his attention back to Garth.  “I didn’t intend to come to Silverton.”  He shrugs.  “I was just passing through when my car broke down.”

Garth laughs as if Castiel told a fantastic joke.  “Oh man, you must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.  Silverton is in a little valley and there’s only one way in.  You’d have gotten to the edge of town and had to turn around and drive right back.”

“Oh.” Castiel’s frown deepens.  

“You going anywhere specific?” Garth asks.  “We could get you unlost if you tell us where you’re going.”

Castiel laughs, low and bitter.  “Actually, getting lost was kind of the idea.”

Dean didn’t expect that kind of honesty, but Castiel is a lawyer.  He’d know that a half truth is the best lie.  

Garth’s grin falters.  “Sounds like you’re leaving behind an old life.”

“Yes, you could say that.”

“Well, Silverton is great if you’re looking for a place to start over.”

Dean jerks around and stares hard at Garth.  He looks over at Bobby and raises his eyebrows.  Bobby just shrugs, and shakes his head minutely, not interrupting Garth and Castiel’s conversation.

Castiel presses his lips together for a moment, his expression solemn.  After a moment he shakes his head.  “I don’t know… I-”

But Garth has the bit in his teeth and there’s no stopping him now.  “No, really!  I used to be a dentist, but man I was _not_ happy.  And I came up here for a vacation, and I fell in love with the place, and I met my wife, and it was easy as pie quitting my old job and staying here instead.”

Castiel leans back in his chair, and chews at his bottom lip, and Dean wishes he hadn’t witnessed that because now he’s wondering what those fangs would feel like nipping at his own lips.  He turns back to the bowls and continues filling them with stew, but the menial task doesn’t do a damn thing to make the mental image go away.

His ears prick when Garth continues his campaign.  “If you need a job, my wife’s cousin Nora could use some help at the general store.”

Dean puts a spoon in each of the bowls and carries two of them to the table, setting the first one in front of Bobby.  Castiel is still chewing at his bottom lip, and his scent is heavy with tension, the cedar undertones nearly drowning out the apple.  His shoulders are rigid, and his hands are fisted together on the table.  He looks three seconds from bolting.

He looks up when Dean slides a bowl of stew in front of him.  His eyes are wide, and there is fear there.

It strikes Dean right in the chest, and he wants to drag Castiel into the back of the house and guard him from any and all threats.  He can feel a growl trying to climb up out of his throat, but he forces it down.  Instead, he drops his eyes to the bowl of stew and nudges it until it bumps against Castiel’s knuckles.

Castiel starts slightly and looks down at the stew.  Slowly his fingers unclench, and he wraps them around the bowl, sliding it closer to himself.  He sucks in a breath, and let’s it out in a long sigh.  “I don’t have any experience working in a store,” he murmurs.

Slapping his knee in triumph, Garth laughs.  “That don’t matter.  You look like a smart guy.  I’ll bet you’ll pick it up in no time.”

Castiel nods, and pulls his bowl a little closer before looking up at Garth.  “Then I guess I could probably stay.”

Dean looks at Bobby and he’s sure his own expression mirrors the older man’s shock.   _*Did that just happen?*_

While out in the yard searching for parts, Dean had also been scouring his brain for ways to convince Castiel to stick around.  He’d been to the point where he was considering just stripping down in front of him and presenting, although that was certainly a last resort.  Sex might keep him interested for a while, but there’s no guarantee it’d keep him around for long.

Leave it to Garth to stumble over a problem and fix it without even trying.  

While Dean grabs the other two bowls of stew, Garth continues laying out Castiel’s new life plan.  “And you know, if you need a place to stay, Dean’s brother Sam owns this great little B&B not too far from the store.  I’ll bet you he’ll rent you a room for a good price…”


	4. Chapter 4

“Garth has that effect on everyone.  Don't let it get to you.”

Castiel blinks at the doorway Garth disappeared through after practically laying out Castiel's future on a well marked map and then announcing he had to get to work before he got fired for being late and lazy.  The man was like a flash flood, appearing out of nowhere and rearranging entire landscapes before disappearing, leaving only the barest scent of cheerful beta behind to even hint at what just happened.

He turns wide eyes to Bobby.  “He would make an excellent lawyer.”

From the other side of the kitchen where he's washing the bowls from their meal, Dean makes a choked sound, and his shoulders shake with his quiet laughter.  It draws Castiel's eyes, but he quickly looks away.  It's an effort not to stare openly at the omega, but he absolutely refuses to display any more bad manners.

He just hopes his pheromones continue to cooperate with his will.  So far Dean hasn't acted like he senses anything off, but then again Castiel's rude behavior the day before already gave away his attraction.  It's not like a thickening of his scent would give Dean any new revelations, and Bobby is Human so he wouldn't be able to tell a difference anyway.

Bobby chuckles as well.  “Now you know how he ended up working for me.  I'm still not sure how he did it, so it's nice seeing him work his magic on someone else this time.”

Dean lifts wet hands and signs something to Bobby that Castiel can't quite see, but it makes the older man laugh again.  When he notices Castiel's curiosity, Bobby explains.  “He says Garth is bad, but his wife is even sneakier.”  He pauses when Dean signs again.  “Those two could take over the world if they wanted.”

Both men laugh, and Castiel assumes he'd understand the joke if he knew Garth better.  He'll have an opportunity now that he's planning on settling in Silverton.

He has no idea how the Hell that happened.  But Garth had made it sound like a brilliant idea, and Castiel can't find fault in the plan.  Silverton is small and isolated, and it's not the kind of place his brothers would look for him.

Dean finishes washing dishes and dries his hands on a towel before coming back to the table.  He sits down in the chair across from Castiel and signs something that Castiel assumes is a question by the way his eyebrows are lifted.  

It's fascinating to see how much he conveys through his eyes.  And Castiel feels less guilty for staring, since it's part of how Dean communicates.

Bobby translates.  “Are you feeling better?”

He does.  His throat is still sore, but his fever broke and he woke up able to breathe through his nose.  It's what brought him downstairs.  He followed the scent of food, because it was a better option than following the buttery sweet scent of omega.  Although, he found both in the end.  “Yes, I feel much better.  Thank you for allowing me to stay.”

Bobby huffs.  “We weren't about to let you go anywhere.”

Castiel goes tense all over, adrenaline rushing into his blood.  Do they know?  Have they already contacted his brothers’ people to come collect him?

But Bobby continues.  “Even a little storm like that can be deadly up here if you're not used to driving in the snow.  You wouldn't be the first popsicle we pulled out of a ditch the next morning.”

“Oh… yes,” Castiel murmurs as he relaxes back into his chair.  “I guess breaking down was a blessing in disguise.”  He glances at Dean and sees that his flash of panic didn't go unnoticed.  

Dean is frowning at him again, but this time it isn't the same concerned expression Castiel saw this morning.  His green eyes glitter with something dangerous, and his scent becomes thick, with a tang to it that tickles the back of Castiel's throat.

In all his life Castiel has known only five men who make Castiel want to bare his throat in submission.  His father and his brothers, although Gabriel has rarely displayed any aggressive behavior toward him, all powerful alphas, and all very firm about the family pecking order.  And while Castiel has always been the baby and therefore at the bottom of the totem pole, he is still a Novak.  People show _him_ submission.  Even humans respect his power.

But Dean makes him want to grovel, to beg for every scrap of approval the omega will spare him.  It's a strange feeling, that instinct to roll over to bare his belly and wag his tail.  He wants to make Dean’s mistrustful frown go away, to bring back his sunny smile.

After a heartbeat Dean's expression clears although his scent doesn't change.  He signs again, with Bobby translating.   _“I'm going to have to order parts to fix your car.  The radiator is shot and we don't have parts for a Mercedes on hand.”_

Bobby takes over from there.  “We'll probably have to order it straight from the dealership.  Might take some time to get here ‘cause those bastards like to take their time.  The offer for a loaner is still open.”

Castiel wonders if he'll ever get used to people being so helpful to a stranger.  He grew up in New York and San Diego is the smallest city he's ever lived in, so he's only ever heard of small town hospitality.  Until now it seemed mythical, like ancient Weres shifting during the full moon.  He smiles.  “Yes, thank you.”

Dean's hands move, drawing Castiel's eyes to him again.  He wishes he understood what he's saying without Bobby's translation.  He speaks several languages, and he wonders if he would just as easily pick up ASL.  

“Dean can text his brother to get a room set up for you.  It’s short notice, so the soonest he can get something ready will probably be tomorrow.”

Despite the fact that he does feel much better than he did earlier that morning, Castiel is grateful for the offer.  His throat is still swollen and his body feels three times too heavy, and despite sleeping most of the day, he feels lethargic and woozy.  The idea of finding temporary lodging for the night is daunting.  

Living the whole rest of his life is daunting.  But he’ll take it one day at a time until it feels like he can do more.

He dips his chin in a grateful nod.  “If it’s no imposition, then I would like that.”

Bobby slaps his palm lightly on the tabletop.  “Well it’s settled then.  I’m gonna go get some paperwork done.  You boys play nice.”  He turns his chair away from the table and wheels himself out of the kitchen, leaving them alone.

Castiel wants to look anywhere but at Dean, but he doesn’t want to be rude so he meets the omega’s eyes.  “Do you have more work to do too?” he asks.

Shaking his head, Dean pulls his phone out again.  He slides his fingers in patterns over the screen then holds it up for Castiel to see what he wrote.   _“I’m off the clock when Garth gets here.  Mostly I’m here to take care of Bobby.”_

That isn’t surprising at all.  Castiel has known Dean for a day, and he can already see that he’s a caretaker.  “He’s very lucky to have you here.”

Bright pink spreads across Dean’s cheeks, hiding his freckles.  He looks down at his phone and types another message.  He doesn’t look up when he shows it to Castiel.   _“The old bastard is always trying to get rid of me.”_

For some reason the idea of Bobby sniping at Dean, while the younger man ignores him and sticks around anyway, makes Castiel laugh.  Which devolves into a small coughing fit, but when his lungs stop spasming, he looks at Dean with a smile.  “Well the fact that you’re still around makes you a very good person.”

Dean snorts, and shakes his head; writes on his phone again.   _“Or just as mule-headed as he is.”_

Again Castiel’s laugh turns into a cough.  This time it takes him longer to catch his breath.  His eyes are watering, and his sinuses are clogging up again.  Already he misses Dean’s sweetness teasing his senses.

While Castiel was coughing, Dean had gotten up.  Castiel watches him pull a mug from a cupboard that he fills with water and puts in the microwave.  Then he gets out a box of tea, and a bottle of honey.

Dean moves around the kitchen while he waits for the water to heat up.  His shoulders bunch and flex under his shirt, and his hands are nimble and sure as he puts away the now dry bowls from their lunch.  When the bell on the microwave dings, he pulls out the mug and puts in a tea bag then starts adding honey to the hot water.  Castiel’s eyes widen at the generous helping Dean adds to the mug, but he remembers how delicious the tea from that morning was, so he doesn’t protest.

After putting everything away again, Dean puts the mug in front of Castiel.  He waves a at the steam rising up from it and gives Castiel a warning look, reminding him to let it cool down.

Since it’s too hot to drink yet, Castiel merely wraps his hands around the warm cup and pulls it close so he can breathe in the steam.  It helps a little when the peppermint fills his lungs.  While he waits for it to cool down, Dean makes himself a cup of coffee.  It’s just instant from a can, and Castiel wonders what it tastes like.  He’s never been a snob about his coffee, but then again he’s never had instant.

He can hear Balthazar in the back of his mind.   _You’re a pauper now, Cassie!  How will you survive on instant coffee and ramen noodles?_ The voice is just his imagination, though.  Balthazar knows nothing about where Castiel is.  

He feels a pang of regret that he has to cut off all contact with his best friend, but even though he believes Balthazar was never one of his brothers’ minions, he still thinks it’s best that he be kept in the dark about Castiel’s new life.  For his protection if nothing else.

Dean settles back down in his chair, and they sit together in comfortable silence for several minutes.  When Castiel finally tastes his tea, it is sweet but it soothes the ache in his throat, making him sigh in relief.  One side of Dean’s mouth ticks up just before he takes a sip of his coffee.  

They drink their beverages in companionable silence.  Castiel has never been the kind of man who feels the need to fill silence, and Dean seems perfectly content as well.  That could very well have something to do with his inability to speak, but he’s leaned back in his seat and sipping lazily at his coffee, fully relaxed.  The tea breaks up some of Castiel’s congestion, and he can smell the sweet tones of a calm omega, which only soothes him further.  

He has a brief flash of his fantasy about cuddling on the couch with Dean.  He wonders if this is what it would feel like if it were real.

When Castiel’s mug is nearly empty, Dean sits up straight and starts writing something on his phone again.  He slides it across the table for Castiel to read the message.   _“Want to watch a movie?”_

Despite his lingering illness, Castiel isn’t ready to go back to sleep yet.  He had planned on finishing his tea and going up to his room and… staring at the wall until he went back to sleep probably.  He’s not accustomed to having a lot of free time, so he has no idea what else he would have done.  At home he had many books, but most of them had never been cracked open because if he wasn’t working, he was sneaking around gathering evidence.  And now that he has the time to read them, he had to leave them behind.  He enjoys movies, but again that is another luxury that he has lived without in recent years.

Spending his free time with someone just for the sake of relaxing is also a luxury he’s gone without, and his heart kicks up with eagerness at the idea of doing so with Dean.  “Yes, I would like that.”

Dean’s fangs flash in a grin, and then all signs of his contented relaxation disappear.  He’s up and out of his chair and putting his mug in the sink.  He goes to take Castiel’s, but pauses and lifts a questioning brow and points into it.   _*Want some more?*_

The tea definitely helps his airways stay clear, but between the stew and the tea, Castiel is pleasantly full.  “Maybe later.”

Dean nods and puts the mug in the sink with his own, and then gestures for Castiel to follow.  He leads the way into another area of the house, past Bobby’s office where the older man is concentrating on whatever paperwork he has spread out on his desk, and into a small room that looks like a private library.  The walls are lined with overflowing bookshelves, and there are more stacks of books on every available surface  The only place clear of books is the couch which sits just under a huge spread of windows.  

Outside the sun is shining brightly, no sign that there was ever a storm the night before.  The light is the hazy gold of afternoon, and even though Castiel is sure it isn’t that late, it looks like the sun is going down.  The towering mountains he can see above the trees must make the days here seem shorter.  

After kicking off his shoes near one end of the couch, Dean steps up onto the cushions and reaches up to grab the curtains and pull them shut over the view.  The thick cloth blocks out the light, leaving the room in dark shadows.  Castiel blinks in the sudden dimness even though he can see perfectly well.  He watches Dean hop down from the couch and cross the room to a cabinet set between two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

He pulls the doors open, revealing a large screen tv.  It’s an old model, not even a flat screen, and definitely not high-definition.  Dean turns it on, and also powers up a black box next to it.  When the XBox logo comes up on the screen, Castiel finally understands what the little black controller Dean picked up is for.  

Dean looks over his shoulder and waves towards the couch, and Castiel takes his direction and sits down.  He tucks himself into a corner of the surprisingly comfortable cushions and waits patiently while Dean navigates through menus until Netflix begins loading.  Dean joins him on the couch and holds out the controller to Castiel.

“I don’t know how to work this,” Castiel says even though he accepts the offering.

Dean leans close and points to the green button.  Castiel pushes it, and sees that it selected the tv show that was highlighted in the Continue Watching section.  He raises an eyebrow when he realizes it’s Beverly Hills 90210.  

Snickering, Dean reaches over and pushes the red button which exits the episode.  He points at himself and shakes his head.  Then he mimes putting on a hat and adjusting it, and points in the direction of Bobby’s office.  He crosses his fists over his chest in a sign that Castiel recognizes as “love”, and grins widely.

“Bobby loves this show?” Castiel guesses.

Dean’s eyes sparkle with humor and he nods.

Castiel chuckles, and turns his attention back to the menu on the screen.  “Well, I suppose we all have our vices.”

His is currently the buttery scent filling his senses.  Navigating through the menus on the screen only takes a moment for him to pick up now that Dean has shown him the button functions, and he concentrates on his options instead of the omega sitting beside him.  He doesn’t recognize most of what he sees, although he does linger over the documentary section. He passes it by though, because Dean specified he wanted to watch a movie.

Eventually he comes across something that makes him stop.  “They have the Marvel movies on Netflix now?” Without waiting for a response, he scrolls to Captain America but hesitates with his thumb over the green button.  

When he was a kid, he loved Marvel comics and he’d read as many as he could until Raphael took them away and told him if he was going to be reading, he should be doing something useful.  He’d had Castiel’s tutors give him more lessons.  It was more reading, but far less enjoyable.  He’d never been able to get back into the hobby, but as an adult he’d seen the movie previews and felt a spark of that childish excitement that he’d been trained to suppress.  

He glances at Dean.  “Is this okay?”

Dean grins and reaches over to press Castiel’s thumb down on the button.  

Xxx

Waking up to a soft knock on the door is far less jarring this morning than it was the day before.  This time Castiel’s mind isn’t mired down with fever and congestion, so he can sense Dean’s buttery sweetness on the other side of the door before he even opens his eyes.  He doesn’t move right away, smiling at the memory of the previous evening.

After watching Captain America, Dean insisted on watching the rest of the Marvel movies in the “right order”.  So they’d watched Iron Man, taking a break for food after Garth interrupted them to let Dean know he was heading home for the evening.  And then they’d gotten halfway through The Incredible Hulk before Castiel had begun to nod off.  When his head had jerked up from his chest the third time, Dean had stopped the movie, and nudged Castiel before gesturing up the stairs.  

While Castiel was getting ready to go to bed, Dean showed up with a glass of water and another dose of NyQuil.  He’d fallen asleep almost as soon as he’d laid down, and from the angle of the morning light, Dean must have let him sleep in quite a bit.

He rubs a palm over his face and sits up.  His voice is rough with sleep when he calls out, but his throat no longer hurts.  “Come in, Dean.”

Just like every other time Dean has been invited inside, he pokes his head through the door first.  He comes in with another mug of mint tea, which Castiel eagerly accepts.  He might be becoming somewhat addicted to it because he’s starting to associate it with Dean.  

Dean points at him, and then lifts his eyebrows while pointing his thumb up.  

After taking a long swallow of the tea, which is the perfect temperature, Castiel smiles.  “Yes, I’m definitely better.”  

Dean puts up both thumbs this time.  Then he pulls out his phone and types a message before holding it out to Castiel.   _“Are you hungry?  I made breakfast.”_

“Yes, I am starving.”  

 _“Come down whenever you’re ready.”_  When Castiel nods, Dean pockets his phone and gives a small salute before leaving the room.  

Castiel finishes his tea, and then considers his clothing.  He’d begun to sweat when his fever broke the day before, so he’d changed out of the clothing Dean loaned him and into his own pajamas.  He could still use a shower, but his stomach is rumbling despite the tea, and since Dean had already made it, he doesn’t want to wait to eat it when it’s cold.  And neither Dean nor Bobby seem to care how he’s dressed, so he settles for taking a short trip to the bathroom before heading downstairs with his now empty cup.

He follows his nose to the kitchen where the buttery sweet scent of pancakes mingles with the scent of sausage and maple syrup.  Even though his mouth waters, he almost resents the short stack of fluffy golden cakes Dean serves him because it makes Dean’s scent hard to pick out.  But he digs in eagerly, ignoring Bobby’s amused looks from across the table.

“You’re looking better,” Bobby says over the top of his coffee.  His plate is already mostly empty, and he has his tablet sitting on the table nearby.

Castiel swallows and wipes his mouth on a paper towel before he answers.  “Almost back to normal, I think.”

Bobby sighs ruefully.  “What I wouldn’t give for a Were’s immune system.”

It’s a sentiment Castiel has heard from many humans.  And he counters it as he always does.  “It comes with its downsides.”

“I’ve been a teenage boy,” Bobby counters with a chuckle.  “I know what it’s like to be uncontrollably horny.”

Castiel laughs, and is pleased when there isn’t a twinge of protest from his lungs.  “You only say that because you haven’t experienced a rut.”

From next to the stove, Dean snorts.  He looks over his shoulder and gives them both a significant look.  

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Bobby sighs, rolling his eyes.  “Omegas have it the worst.”

“They do, actually.  Omega heats are-”

Bobby cuts Castiel off with a wave of his hand.  “I know, son.  My wife was an omega.”

Castiel blinks in surprise.  It’s not uncommon for Weres and Humans to intermarry, but in most cases Humans have difficulty taking care of their omega spouses during heats.  They don’t put off the right hormones to counteract the omega’s, and the heat lasts longer, eventually wearing the Human out.  Bobby must have had quite a bit of stamina to keep up with her monthly heats, and Castiel knows it’s crude, but he’s still impressed with the man because of it.

Then he realizes that Bobby referred to his wife in the past tense.  “You’re no longer married?”

A sour note invades the smells mingling in the room, and Castiel’s eyes dart between Bobby and Dean.  They’ve both lost their smiles, and the cheerful atmosphere goes tense.

“She passed,” Bobby says softly.  “A long time ago.”

Genuine sorrow fills Castiel’s chest.  “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

Bobby clears his throat, and nods before gruffly changing the subject.  “I’ve got a couple of loaners out there.  Dean can help you pick one out when you’re ready.”

Accepting the shift in conversation, Castiel nods and plucks at his plain white t-shirt.  “I should probably dress a little warmer before I go outside.”

“It's not too cold,” Bobby says.  “The snow already melted in most places.  It's supposed to be pretty warm for the rest of the week.”

“Really?”  Castiel frowns. “Is that normal?”

Dean leaves the stove and comes to sit down at the table with his own plate of food.  He signs something that makes Bobby nod agreement before speaking.  “In spring and fall we see fifty degree temperature swings, sometimes on a day to day basis.  Dean says give it a month and everything’ll freeze over till April.”

With a sigh Castiel bids silent goodbye to California's warmer weather.  

“Don't worry, boy.  If we can survive, you can survive.”

Of course he can.  He grew up in New York city.  That doesn't mean he has to like it.  He half smiles, half grimaces.  “I'm already looking forward to spring.”

They talk about the weather while they finish their breakfast, and the sour tinge clears from the air.  Dean will occasionally sign something, and Castiel suspects he’s teasing the older man because Bobby will grumble and glare at him and refuse to translate whatever it was.  

Eventually they’re all finished and Dean gets up to start clearing away the dishes.  He waves away Castiel’s offer to help and signs, which Bobby translates as directions to go get dressed so Dean can help Castiel pick out a loaner when he’s ready.

Castiel wants to protest, but he can tell by the sharp look Dean is giving him that he won’t get very far with it.  So he thanks him for the meal and excuses himself to go upstairs and change.

Even though he’s wearing cleaner pajamas, his skin feels grimy under the soft cotton.  So he takes a quick shower, and brushes his teeth.  He needs to shave, but he hadn’t thought to pack a kit, and he doesn’t feel comfortable searching the bathroom for spare razors.  He eventually decides it doesn’t matter since it’s not like he has to show up at the office.  

Maybe he’ll grow a beard.  He’s never done that before.  

Michael would probably disapprove.  Oh well.

Castiel smiles at the rebellious idea as he goes back to his room to rummage through his clothing.

He doesn't have a lot of options to choose from.  He packed the only two pairs of jeans he owns, and a couple of plain t-shirts, one of which he’s already wearing with his thin cotton pajama pants.  Other than that he has mostly business clothes.  No suits, other than the one he was wearing when he walked out of his office the last time, but slacks and button down shirts.  He'll need to buy new clothing, something more appropriate for blending in with the residents of a small town.  

As he pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt he makes a mental note to find out if there is anywhere to buy things to add to his meager wardrobe.  He'll have to see how much space he'll have to store things in his new home.

He will also need a proper coat.  All he has is a thin trench coat that was fine for cool mornings and evenings in California, but was hardly any protection from the more intense cold of the mountains.  It’s all he has at the moment though, so after his clothes are all packed away in his bag, he pulls it on and leaves the room.

Dean must have gone outside after cleaning the kitchen because when Castiel nears the bottom of the stairs, the door opens and Dean steps inside accompanied by a gust of chilly air.  It carries Dean's buttery scent straight to Castiel.  It’s far stronger than the pancakes had been earlier, and it smacks Castiel right in the face.  His jaw sags and he breathes in through his mouth and nose at the same time, instinctively tasting the air to pull in more of Dean's essence.  Desire ripples through him, and he shivers just as Dean looks up and makes eye contact.

Instantly Dean's expression morphs into a frown.  His eyes drag down over Castiel's body, which makes him shiver again.  Dean makes a displeased sound and shakes his head.  Then he turns away and grabs something from a rack next to the door.  

Castiel almost backs away when Dean approaches him.  With the door open behind him Castiel is currently downwind, so he's getting the full brunt of Dean's scent and Dean hasn't sensed anything yet, but as soon as he close enough he's going to know how much Castiel wants to shove him down on the nearest flat surface and-

He blinks in surprise when Dean reaches up and pulls a gray woolen beanie over his head, and then wraps a knitted scarf around his throat.  Dean fusses with the scarf for a moment, making sure Castiel’s neck is covered.  Castiel isn’t sure what he expected, but being wrapped up in warm clothing like a five year old was not it.

He only has a moment to puzzle over the coddling though, because now that they’re less than a foot away from each other, Dean’s scent is thicker and it assaults Castiel’s senses.  Despite his mind’s frantic directions to stay in control of himself, he sways forward and inhales.  His lungs expand and his chest rises up under Dean’s hands.  His mouth begins to water even as his dick swells under the stiff denim of his jeans.

The instant Dean becomes aware of Castiel’s arousal is obvious.  His fingers go still, and his eyes come up to meet Castiel’s.  His nostrils flare, and his lips part.  He takes a breath, and his pupils dilate.  It’s just dim enough in the hallway that light coming from another part of the house catches against his retinas, causing them to flash briefly when he moves closer.

Castiel’s hands come up and cup Dean’s elbows, his fingers digging into the rough fabric of his jacket.  He just barely stops himself from pulling Dean closer, but he holds tight enough to make it clear that he doesn’t want him to move away either.  His chin tilts up in invitation.

An invitation Dean accepts.  He leans forward and runs the tip of his nose along the edge of Castiel’s jaw.  The movement continues until his cheek rubs against Castiel’s skin, their stubble scraping against each other, and he buries his nose against the exposed skin between Castiel’s jaw and the scarf he just wrapped around Castiel’s neck.  Turning his head just slightly until Dean’s fluffy hair tickles his nose, Castiel inhales.

Dean is huffing against his neck, his breath warm and damp.  After a long moment he lifts his head and stares at Castiel.  His lips are pulled back enough to bare the tips of his fangs, and he’s panting.  The air around them becomes sweeter with Dean’s reaction to Castiel’s pheromones.

Garth’s cheerful voice comes from the doorway and breaks the fragile moment.  “You guys know it’s expensive to heat the outdoors, right?”

With an audible click, Dean’s jaw snaps shut.  He turns an intense glare over his shoulder, which Garth doesn’t notice because he’s busy removing his coat and hanging it up on the hooks.  Dean’s eyes snap back to Castiel’s.  His pupils are still wide and black, but his scent turns sour.  He jerks back and spins on a heel, stomping past Garth and out the door, jerking it closed behind him.  

Castiel stands frozen in place, wondering what the hell just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the Marvel movies aren't on Netflix, but this is an alternate universe and I can do what I want. Also, Steve is an Alpha and Bucky is an Omega and they are true mates. The third Captain America movie is about them finally forming a blood bond while trying to escape authorities and prove that Bucky doesn't deserve to be punished for what Hydra made him do. (I hardcore ship Stucky, but I haven't dipped my toes in fic yet because I suspect it will consume me and I'm not done with Destiel yet.)
> 
> Updates may slow down a bit. The WoW expansion came out the day before my wedding anniversary and my husband and I have the week off and are playing the game far more than is healthy for my back with this awful desk chair that I really really need to replace. Also, the DeanCas Tropefest started today, and I'm going to be sneaking in fic reading in between WoW adventures :D
> 
> Edit: Oh CRAP! I forgot _again_. If you're paying attention to the tags you'll see a character death tag has been added. This was always planned, but I spaced it when I was tagging. I'm SO SORRY. It's not Dean or Cas, but it IS sad. Feel free to message me privately on Tumblr if you'd like details before you decide if you want to keep reading.


	5. Chapter 5

Gravel crunches loudly under Dean's boots as he stalks away from the house toward the garage.  His muscles itch with the need to break out into a run, to burn off his rage and confusion with physical activity.  But at the same time he feels if he gives into the urge, he'll never be able to stop, so he controls his limbs with an iron will.  

He doesn't stop at the garage though.  There isn't much to work on, just an old tractor that Garth has been coaxing a few more months of work out of even though Bobby has been telling the owner the damn thing is a worthless hunk of scrap the last several times it was brought in. Instead he detours through the yard full of junked vehicles and follows the familiar pathway to his own workshop.  

Once he's inside, he forces out a long sigh, his breath clouding in front of him.  His eyes bounce over his tool bench and fall briefly on his newest project before flicking away.  He can't even settle down enough to work, and _what the Hell is wrong with him?_

Castiel is the enemy, and Dean stuck his nose right up against his throat and fucking _scented him._ Yeah, the guy smells nice, but Dean has no idea where that came from.

He'd smelled more than nice, he thinks.  He smelled like home and comfort and wild monkey sex and-

Heat blooms under his skin and beads of sweat break out across his forehead and upper lip despite the cold.  A wave of arousal follows behind it, making his skin tingle unpleasantly.  The scent of his own slick hits him seconds after he feels it damp and warm between his legs.

“Fuck,” he snarls out loud.  His voice is cracked and rough, as is the low growl rising up in his throat.  

How the Hell is he going into heat already?  His cycle has always been regular as a clock. It's only a few days early, not even a full week, but the fucking moon could set its schedule by his heats.  And he can usually feel it coming.  It's gradual.  First a mild fever, then insatiable thirst and aching joints.  He usually has plenty of time to mentally prepare for it before he starts leaking.

Well at least he knows why he made such an ass of himself by sniffing at Castiel like a potential mate.  He'd felt like his body wasn't his own, something else taking control and making him bury his nose against Castiel's throat.  The sweet woodsy scent of the alpha had filled his head with foggy pleasure, and his lungs twinged.  If Garth hadn't interrupted, Dean might have broken into a damn purr.

Fresh slick rushes from his body when he imagines purring for Castiel, encouraging him to nuzzle back, maybe start nipping at Dean's exposed skin.  Helping free Dean of his clothing so he can reach more…

“God _dammit._ ”  He stomps further into his shop, not sure what he intends to do.  He just needs to move around, and staying inside is his best option since going back outside will tempt him to go find his- _the_ alpha, and make a damn fool of himself.

Except that walking smears his slick around, making his ass feel extra sensitive.  Already, his dick is pressing urgently against the confines of his jeans.  The cotton of his underwear is no longer comfortable and soft against his skin, instead scraping across the head of his dick like sandpaper.

Shit, the heat is hitting him _hard._

He's about to open his fly and rub one out to take the edge off when his phone buzzes in his pocket.  It's tempting to ignore it, but if Bobby needs him, Dean will ignore his raging boner and do what needs doing.  He pulls his phone out and thumbs the screen to open the message.

It's Garth.   _Did you want to set Steve up with the Continental or the Cherokee?_

Another growl sneaks between Dean's gritted teeth.  “ _What the Hell do you think?  Give him the Jeep.”_

There's no way Dean is sending Castiel off in a car without four wheel drive.  Not on the tail end of a snowstorm that is only the first of the season.  

His phone buzzes again.  “ _Got it, boss-man!  You gonna come say goodbye before he leaves?”_

Dean lifts the phone with the intention of throwing it across the shop, the growing ache under his skin making him seriously fucking cranky, but he resists the urge at the last second.  He lowers it and jams his thumbs down on each letter instead of using the Swype function.

_“No.”_

Garth probably thinks he's being an asshole.  He _is_ being an asshole.  But Dean has no fucks to give.

He immediately hates his brain for phrasing.

Tossing his phone onto his workbench - less than gently; hopefully he didn't break the damn thing - he gives in to his biology and scrambles to free his aching dick.  He sighs audibly when the pressure of his jeans disappears.  His fingers are cold, but the chill feels good when he takes his dick in hand and starts stroking it dry.  Mostly he just squeezes and massages, pulling the skin over the hard flesh underneath.

His phone goes off again, rattling against the wood, but he ignores it this time.  Reaching his other hand down the front of his pants, fondling his balls a little on his way back to the source of his slick, he smears his fingers against his hole.  He grits his teeth against the ache of the swelling flesh, and massages with the tips of his fingers until it starts to recede.  Then he pulls his hand free, and uses it to slick up his dick, making it easier to jack off.  

He doesn’t try to draw it out.  Not this first one.  Right now he just needs to take some of the pressure off.  He can let himself enjoy things later, during that sweet spot at the peak of his heat before it becomes too exhausting.  

God, he is _dripping._  From his dick and his ass.  He’s going to have to change his clothes as soon as he gets back to the house, because he can feel the wet patch spreading down the back of his thighs.  

Will Castiel still be there?  Will he smell Dean’s heat and refuse to leave?

If he decides to take what he wants, he’ll be in for a surprise.  He’d have to catch Dean first, and if he did, he’d need some serious wrestling skills to get Dean down on the ground to-

Imagining himself rolling around in the dirt with Castiel, growling and snarling and snapping at each other, is Dean’s tipping point.  His palm swipes over the head of his dick and he squeezes tightly, twisting his wrist on the upstroke.  He grunts as his orgasm punches through him, and more slick squeezes free of his spasming hole even as he fills his palm with come.  

He blinks down at his hands, both shiney with slick and come, and grimaces.  Most of the time he’s completely cool with being an omega, but damn.  Sometimes it’s just so _messy._

Although alphas have their own issues with messes.  He’s seen Sam carrying bedding to the laundry room, trailing the stink of his rut behind him.  At least the kid washed his own sheets instead of asking Dean to do it.  There’s just some things brothers shouldn’t have to do for each other.  Besides, Sam’s ruts stink to high fuckin’ heaven and Dean wouldn’t touch those sheets with a ten foot pole.  Better to toss a lighter on the pile and burn it.

Thinking of his brother grosses him out enough that the lingering heat under his skin mellows out.  

There are rags on his workbench and he grabs a handful of them and does his best to clean his hands.  Without soap and water, it’s a chore, and even when his hands are dry, the stink of heat still clings to them.  And there’s still the issue of his pants.

He huffs in frustration.  He has to go back to the house and change.  For one, wet jeans are going to chafe, and for two, it’s too cold to be wandering around in wet clothes.  It might feel good on his overwarm skin at the moment, but it would still be dangerous to his health.  He’s only got a little propane fueled space heater for his workshop, which is plenty when he’s dry, but won’t be enough with the denim sticking wetly to his thighs.

But he can’t go back to the house while Castiel is there.  Jerking off took the edge off his heat for now, but he’s not about to go flaunting himself in front of an alpha.  Just because heat sex without consent is considered barbaric, that doesn’t mean he’s going to put himself in a position where he’ll test their willpower.  Especially not one of the goddamn Novak brothers.  Those assholes don’t have a problem with taking what they want and damn the negative consequences to anyone caught in their schemes.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, reaching between his legs to pluck the wet fabric away from his thighs.  Dammit, he can’t really wait though.  He’s still leaking, and it’s only going to get worse.  

After refastening his fly, he grabs his phone from the bench.  A quick glance at the messages reveals an _Alrighty! :)_ from Garth, which makes Dean feel like even more of a dick for being rude to him.  He doesn’t know if Garth even noticed, the bastard never _acts_ like he notices, but he makes a note to do something nice for him as an apology.  Maybe he’ll send him home with a pie for him and Bess.  

Once his heat is over and he’s not feeling like such a pile of shit.  Ugh, why is he early??

The walk back from his workshop is uncomfortable, and Dean isn’t looking forward to seeing what kind of damage his wet jeans are doing to the skin of his inner thighs.  But he’d much rather walk right down the side of the mountain without changing than run into Castiel on his way back into the house.  Luckily the expanse of gravel Bobby calls a yard, but is more of an unofficial parking lot, is empty.  He hustles up the stairs and slips through the door as quickly as he can, and makes a beeline for the stairs.

“You put in an order for that radiator yet, boy?”

Dean freezes with one foot on the bottom step when he hears Bobby call to him from the office.  He grinds his molars together and debates whether he can get away with pretending he didn’t hear anything.  

“Dean?”

Okay, no pretending then.  He takes a breath and tries to force it through his vocal cords.  To form sound that he can shape with teeth and tongue into words so that he doesn’t have to actually walk into Bobby’s line of sight to answer him.  The perpetual lump in his throat thickens, threatening to cut off his air supply if he keeps trying so he gives up, palming his chest and gasping in a deep breath to calm the violent flutter under his sternum.  

Just as he starts to regain his calm, he hears the creak of floorboards under the wheels of Bobby’s chair.  He jerks around to find Bobby rolling out of his office into the hall.

“You okay, boy?  You don’t-” he stops and his nose wrinkles as his eyes flick over Dean’s appearance.  “Well no wonder it smells like wet dog in here.  Ain’t it a tad early?”

Dean’s embarrassment increases, but he hides it behind a vicious glare.  His hands come up to swipe through the air in front of him.   _“How the hell would you know that?”_

Bobby rolls his eyes.  “I pay attention to the date, ya idjit.  Ain’t that hard to figure out a pattern after a few years.” He returns Dean’s glare.  “Don’t look at me like that.  I was married to an omega.  I learned to pay attention.”

_“I didn’t realize you were paying attention to me.”_

“Wasn’t doin’ it on purpose.  Stop glaring at me like I read your damn diary.” He reaches up to adjust his hat, lifting it and scratching at his scalp before settling it back on his head.  “I guess you’ll be taking off for a few days?”

Normally Dean goes to Sam and Eileen’s house during his heats.  They keep a room for him there, even though he insists they don’t have to since he’s pretty much moved in with Bobby for the last few years.  It’s one more room that they can rent out, and he’d be perfectly happy crashing on the couch when he visits.  But it’s far more comfortable to go through his heat there where he’s surrounded by the comfort of home and family.  Bobby’s place is home too, but Dean misses the scent of other Weres during his heat, and they won’t judge him for what he’s doing behind closed doors.

Not that he thinks Bobby judges him for it.  Bobby has lived in Were society longer than he’s lived in Human society, so he’s practically one of them.  

He can’t go this time though.  Not with Castiel staying with Sam and Eileen.  

He doesn’t try to figure out whether he’s nervous about having his heat near Castiel because he thinks the alpha will try something, or if he thinks _he’ll_ try something.  

 _“Not this time,”_ he signs, blushing deeply.

Bobby just grunts and turns his chair around so he can wheel back into his office.  “Whatever floats your boat.  There’s a five gallon jug down in the basement you can fill with water.  Make sure you get it up to your room before you lock yourself up in there.  You know where the extra towels and bedding are.”

Dean wants to shout after him that he knows how to take care of himself during his heats, but Bobby is already out of sight, and his throat still doesn’t want to cooperate and let the words crowding inside it come free.  So he settles for flipping the bird in the direction of Bobby’s office before hurrying up the stairs.  He has a little bit of time before the next peak in his hormones, and he isn’t going to waste a minute of it.

After grabbing clean pajamas, Dean shuts himself in the bathroom and peels off his filthy pants, grimacing at the way the cloth has stiffened in places where it began to dry.  He makes quick but thorough work of his shower, and then dresses.  He’s still leaking a little, but it’s not enough to make him uncomfortable in the short time it’ll take him to prepare for the rest of his heat.

He fetches the water bottle, glad to see it’s the kind with a spigot so he doesn’t have to struggle with it’s weight to drink from it.  After filling it and stashing it on the dresser in his room, he also collects a cooler, filling it with sliced cheese and meats from the fridge.  Knowing he’ll need a shitload of calories, he also snags an unopened bag of cookies, and a box of crackers and hauls it all up to his room.  

He goes back downstairs to make a list of things for Garth to pick up at the store since he’ll be the one primarily taking care of Bobby while Dean is out of the count.  He has no idea where the gangly mechanic is, but he’s glad he’s not around.  Garth is a second generation beta, but he’s still got a pretty sensitive nose, and the last thing Dean wants is to have another talk with Garth like the one he had with Bobby.  Just as he sticks it to the fridge, a sharp ache ripples through his belly.  He groans, curving in and wrapping an arm across his middle.  It doesn’t help, and neither do the long even breaths he takes.

God, sometimes he really hates being an omega.  Fuck alphas and their talk about how rough their ruts are.  At least it’s over within a day.  Dean has three more days of this shit to deal with.

Why biology decided it was a good idea to give alphas short bursts of breeding frenzy while omegas got at least three days of Hell is beyond him.  There’s probably scientists out there that have theories, but Dean doesn’t give a fuck.  He just _wants_ to fuck.  

The hormones are starting to leak out of his skin through his sweat, and he can smell his own distinct scent, butter and cream and a hint of sweetness.  Normally it doesn’t register to his senses except during times of extreme emotion, but now he can feel it clouding around him.

It’s a really good thing Castiel is gone.  There’s no way he could miss the waves of _come fuck me_ pouring out of Dean’s skin.  

A tiny whimper escapes his throat.  More sound than he’s normally capable of making when there’s a possibility that someone can hear him.  He’d be pleased, if he wasn’t about to collapse on the floor and start humping the linoleum.

Right.  Time to get upstairs where he can hump his mattress instead.  Far more comfortable, and less likely to leave bruises.  Although not nearly as convenient to clean up.  Ugh, he’ll need to make sure to keep changing out fresh towels on the bed since he doesn’t think Bobby has the special sheets that’ll help keep the mattress from getting soaked.

When the wave of cramps eases up, Dean straightens and turns to leave the kitchen.  His dick is tenting the front of his pajama pants already, so he hopes he can sneak past Bobby’s office without-

The thought cuts off when his eyes fall on a bowl of apples on the counter.  His mouth fills with saliva, and he stumbles across the kitchen to scoop up the bowl.  He picks up one of the apples and holds it against his nose, huffing in the scent through his mouth and nose at the same time.  The tangy sweetness coats his sinuses and slips across his tongue, and the cramps in his belly ease.  

Oh yeah, these are going upstairs with the rest of his provisions.  

He shuffles out of the kitchen and up the stairs.  Bobby doesn’t look up when Dean passes his office.  Thank god for small favors.  

Once he's sequestered in his room Dean immediately strips, sighing in relief when cool air is the only thing caressing his skin.  Even though the t-shirt and pajama bottoms are the softest and most comfortable he owns, they still prickled unpleasantly.  He can and has ignored it before.  Heats aren't nearly as debilitating as humans think they are, but it's definitely not pleasant.

It's a little worse for him since he's a male omega; females don't have to deal with a boner on top of the cramps and constant oozing of slick.  If all he had to do was change out a pad every few hours and pop some painkillers, he wouldn't even bother taking the time off.  

Although Bobby would probably still insist.  At least Garth is around to pick up the slack while Dean is out for the count.  It makes him feel less guilty about leaving Bobby for a few days every month.

Pushing himself through the discomfort, Dean pours himself a glass of water and downs it with a couple aspirin.  Then he settles himself on his bed with his laptop, a fresh towel, and an apple to snack on.  He doesn't need porn at the moment, but going through heat is certainly more entertaining with it.  He might as well enjoy it now before he gets far enough into the ordeal that he hates everything related to sex and orgasms even though his body still demands release.  

He spares a moment to lament the fact that he doesn't have any toys to play with, but then he shrugs it off.  Just like the porn, they’re nice, but not necessary.  He clicks play on a favorite video and leans back against his pillows.  The video is a couple of redheaded female alphas with a dark haired male omega, and it involves a whole lot of play wrestling before the girls pin him down.

His dick is achingly hard and he's leaking slick like a damn sieve, but the video isn't holding his attention like it normally does.  His mind keeps imagining what it would be like if they were males.  Dean's been with a female alpha, and holy shit was it hot.  But they don't have knots, so the sex is a lot different.

About halfway through the video he stops it.  He navigates to the male on male section of the site and clicks the alpha/omega link.  The first video is a new one he hasn't seen before, and he loads it up.  The alpha is huge, built like a bear instead of a wolf, but Dean likes ‘em big so that doesn't bother him.  The omega is a skinny little twink though, and Dean's just not feeling that.  He watches for a moment, but can't get into the omega’s simpering and presenting.  He wants to see something rougher, with more bite.  Literally.  He clicks back to the menu.

It takes him some searching, and by the time he finds what he's looking for, the ache in his groin is painful.  He probably should have been jacking off the whole time, taking the edge off, but it didn't feel right.  Now as he watches an alpha and omega that are roughly the same size and evenly matched in strength, wrestling around in an outdoor setting, getting grass stains on their bare skin while snarling and snapping at each other, he finally takes himself in hand.  His fingers are slippery with his own sweetly scented slick, and it only takes him a few strokes before he's coming all over his belly.

The heat under his skin instantly recedes, and he pauses the video with his clean hand so he can enjoy the rest of it later.  He wipes himself clean with the towel, and tosses it across the room, throwing his hands up and cheering silently at himself when the bundle of cloth lands right in the hamper.

He snuggles further into his pillows and pulls up Netflix on his laptop.  He's still a little pissed that his heat is early, but at least it gives him an excuse to work through his backlog of tv he's been meaning to catch up with.  Absently he reaches for the apple he'd set on his bedside table.  It crunches loudly when he sinks his fangs into it.

As soon as the juice spreads across his tongue, heat flares up inside him.  He moans, his eyes rolling back in his head, and his hips buck up against the air.  He bites the apple again but holds it between his teeth, sucking the slightly tart juice from the apple’s flesh, and with his free hand starts stroking his hardening dick again.

It's too soon, but his body responds easily.  It only takes a few minutes before he's coming again, his teeth digging deep enough into the apple to break a chunk free.  He manages to catch it before it falls away, and he lifts it to his mouth again before he's even finished chewing the chunk in his mouth.  He devours the whole thing in several large bites, and it's not until he's considering munching through the core too that he realizes that he's still stroking himself with his free hand.

How the fuck is he still hard?  That doesn't usually start happening until about twenty four hours into his heat.

Well, he’s already jacking off so he might as well keep going.  He sucks the juice out of the apple core as he finishes himself off for the third - fourth? - time.  Then he relaxes back into the cushions and just enjoys the floaty feeling that comes after a good orgasm.  

His day proceeds in much the same manner.  He’ll clean himself up, get himself comfortable again, and much sooner than he expects his body is demanding attention.  He tries ignoring it, squirming around on the mattress while he watches three episodes of The Ranch, but eventually the cramping in his belly forces him to take care of matters.

By evening he’s already fucking exhausted and worried about chafing.  And _goddamn_ he wants a knot.  He’s gone through more alpha/omega porn in one day than he thought was possible.  He just… really needs a little extra.  

He’s got a few people on speed dial he could call to help him get through his heat, but none of them are alphas.  And he _needs_ a knot.  The only way he’s getting one of those is if he gets his box of toys from home.

Since that ain’t happening, he continues trying to ignore his body’s demands by trying to soothe it in other ways.  He changes out the sheets and gets some new towels.  At one point after dark, he manages to get himself into the shower.  The spray feels like needles against his skin, and he gets the fuck out of there when he starts eyeballing the shampoo bottle and wondering if he can take it.  

Nope.  Not going there.

It’s just after midnight when he gives up.  It’s embarrassing as fuck texting Sam and asking him to bring him sex toys, but he’s reached the point where seeing his brother smirking at him is going to be far less painful than abstaining.  Besides, his only other option is to get dressed, drive into town, and pick up the box on his own.  He’s physically capable, but there’s no fucking way he’s getting anywhere near Novak while he’s like this.

A soft knock on his door is the only warning Dean gets before the door opens and Sam slips inside with a shoebox under his arm.  Dean immediately shoves up from the bed and is taking the box from his brother who is carefully keeping his eyes averted from Dean’s nudity.

“You didn’t open it, did you?” Dean grumbles as he turns away from Sam.  His brother can handle a flash of ass.  And Dean’s skin is far too sensitive right now to deal with putting on his clothes.

“Gross.  Of course not.” Sam shuts the door behind him and crosses the room to add a bag of fresh apples to the cooler full of snacks.  

Dean isn’t usually a fruit and veggie kinda guy, but every since he ate that first apple, he’s been craving more.  He plops down on the edge of his bed, and to protect his little brother’s delicate sensibilities, he pulls a towel over his lap.  It won’t hide much, but Sam’s seen worse.  “Did you get juice too?”

“Yeah, I made up a pitcher and put it in the fridge.”  Sam peeks at him from under the fringe of his hair, and when he sees that Dean is at least partially covered, he turns around and leans against the dresser.  “What’s with the apples?  Aren’t you normally a protein and starch kind of guy?”

“Dunno.  Just really want ‘em this time.”  Dean sets the box of toys on his lap and lays his forearms over it.  “Don’t tell me Eileen doesn’t get weird cravings sometimes.”

Sam takes that excuse with a nod and a shrug.  “You need anything else before I get out of here?”  He pats a hand against the jug of water which Dean has already more than half emptied.  “I can fill this up before I go.”

Dean nods, and taps his chin.   _“Yes, thank you.”_

Sam answers in kind, his large hands moving gracefully through the signs.   _“Anytime, big brother.”_ He straightens and lifts the water jug with a grunt.  “I’ll be right back.”

It’s tempting to open the box and run his fingers over the silicone knot he’s got hiding in there, but Dean refrains since Sam’ll be back any minute.  But he does smooth his palms over the blue and red striped surface.  The box is pretty beat up, held together with duct tape and the stubborn tenacity of a cheap inanimate object.  His collection inside is small only in that it contains only three toys.  The fake knot is not so small, and he can’t wait to get it in himself.

Sam returns a few minutes later and settles the now full water jug back on the dresser.  “Alright, that should get you through another day.”  He turns to leave, waving at Dean from across the room instead of coming over to give him a hug like he normally would.  Not that Dean can blame him.  Gross.  “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Dean thanks him with a gesture again.  But just as Sam reaches the door, Dean stops him.  “How’s Cas settling in?”

Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, Sam turns to Dean with eyebrows lifted in surprise.  “Cas?”

Holding up his hand and signing C-A-S, Dean explains “it’s easier than ‘Steve’.”

Sam snorts, his head bobbing understanding and agreement.  He turns back to face Dean more fully, although he doesn’t step away from the door or let go of the knob.  “He’s doing alright, I guess.  He went to bed early.  Said he was still feeling a little under the weather.”

“Is he okay?”  Dean winces at the worry threaded through his words.  One of the benefits of signing over speaking is definitely the ability to keep that kind of shit on the downlow.  

Heaven forbid Sam not notice it.  He gives Dean a piercing look, like he’s trying to dig into his head and pull out secrets.  Or maybe Dean’s just being paranoid.  “Yeah, I think he’s just tired.”

“Oh.” Dean nods.  “That’s… good.”

“Eileen likes him.”

Thankful for a way to deflect his brother’s scrutiny Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes.  “Yeah, well how can we trust her judgement when she mated you?”

Sam laughs.  They’re both completely aware that it’s a joke.  Eileen isn’t exactly the trusting type, and with good reason.  

Dean grins, enjoying joking with his little brother.  For the last few minutes he hasn’t felt like he’s going to combust.  But he can feel the itch coming back, and he _really_ doesn’t want Sam to stick around too long.  “Well don’t let her get attached to him.  We don’t know if we’ll have to get rid of him or not.”

“Don’t worry,” Sam says, completely serious now even though his lips are still turned up in mirth.  “I told her who he is.  She started hiding extra knives around the house.”

This time Dean laughs.  “I like her.”

“Yeah,” Sam’s grin turns wicked.  “Me too.”

“Gross,” Dean huffs.  “Get out.”

“You’re gross.” Sam counters with a wink.  “Stay hydrated!”

And then he’s out the door and Dean is alone with his toys.  Thank god.

In a matter of minutes he’s on his knees, one hand braced on the mattress, fucking himself with the knot with his other hand.  Every time it brushes against his prostate he sees sparks behind his closed lids, and when he jams the widest part past his rim, he comes so hard that he actually shouts out loud.  

He’d normally be embarrassed because Bobby’s in the house and unless he’d drank himself into a dreamless night, there’s no way he would have missed the sound.  But Dean is too blissed out to care.  He collapses on his stomach, not even caring that he’s laying in a puddle of his own come.  The knot shifts inside him, making him moan as his inner muscles flex around the intrusion.

If it were a real knot, he’d be blanketed by a warm alpha body.  One that smells like apples and wood chips…

He falls into a half doze, fantasizing about hands that were rough and demanding now petting soft and gentle over his skin.  But all too soon, his body is begging for attention again.

“Seriously, what the fuck?” he whispers even as he starts humping the bed.  The friction against his dick as well as the shifting of the fake knot quickly bring him to the edge.  It doesn’t take him long to come again, although it’s not as satisfying as the last orgasm.

He’s already reaching the _ugh, WHY_? portion of his heat.  It hasn’t even been a full twenty four hours yet.  So not only is his heat early, but apparently his whole schedule has decided to fuck off.  That’s just great.

The fake knot is helping, but he still feels like he’s going to boil out of his own skin.  And he’s starving.  A look at the clock says it’s nearing six am, and he’s hardly slept at all.  He drags himself out of bed and stumbles toward the cooler.  His lips curl back in disgust at the sight of the meat and cheese.  

He grabs one of the apples Sam brought him and crunches through it quickly.  It settles his stomach, but he’s thirsty.  And water just doesn’t sound appetizing.  Remembering that Sam had left some apple juice in the fridge to get cold, he struggles to his feet, wincing as the fake knot pulls at his rim.  He pulls it loose and tosses it on the bed.

It takes a monumental effort to pull on his pajama pants, but he manages.  He shuffles out of his bedroom, one arm outstretched so he can guide himself with a hand on the wall.  He’s exhausted and the dark is fucking with his depth perception, but at least he doesn’t have a boner so he can walk like a mostly normal person.  

He’s passing the spare bedroom when the scent of cedar and apples reaches him.  He stops, his jaw sagging so he can huff air in through his mouth and nose at the same time.  Without thinking about it, he follows his nose, opening the room’s door and stepping over the threshold.

The scent of alpha - _my alpha,_ his mind whispers - hits him, and immediately the tension in his muscles ease and the cramps in his belly ease.  He shuffles further into the room, shutting the door behind him, and crossing to the bed.  The blankets are spread neatly over the bed, but Dean can still picture Castiel curled up under them.

He throws them back and slides under them, shivering at the cool sheets against his skin.  The fabric surrounds him, and he tucks the blankets up over his head.  The space under them warms quickly, and he relaxes even deeper into the mattress.  Something catches in his lungs, and then he’s purring, nuzzling into the pillow and pulling Castiel’s scent deeper with every inhale.  

The darkness wraps tighter around him, and he finally falls into a deep sleep.

When he wakes many hours later - the angle of the light indicates it’s close to noon - he’s hard and needy again, but it’s not the same burning need he was experiencing earlier.  As he jerks himself off to a more satisfying orgasm than he’s had since his heat first hit him, he finally admits to himself what he’s been trying very hard to deny.

He knows exactly why his heat is early.

God. Damn. Castiel Novak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Dean was talking out loud to Sam. More on that eventually :D


	6. Chapter 6

“Did you hear?  They pulled another dozen kids out of cages last night.”

“Hard to miss it.  The rescues are all they've been talking about on the news.”

“You don't sound like you care.”

Castiel keeps his head ducked as he opens boxes of candy bars and restocks the shelves, making sure to pull the older stock forward before tucking the newer bars behind them.  He tries to focus on the crinkle of the wrappers instead of the conversation of the pair of betas taking their purchases up to the register, but their voices are loud and carry over the music playing softly from a stereo near the freezers at the back of the store.

“Of course I care, man.  I just wanna hear more about when those Novak bastards are finally getting put on trial…”

Seeing that he is a Novak, and until recently a very proud member of his pack, his gut reaction is to bare his teeth and growl out a warning to show some respect.  Instead, he presses his lips together and breathes deeply through his nose.  They're not wrong.  His brothers are bastards for what they've done.  And he is no longer one of them.  No longer a powerful lawyer who won't put up with a hint of disrespect.  

He is Steve Castle, and he is a sales associate.  

Although it's only the first week of his employment and all he's done so far is restock shelves and keep things clean.  He doesn't blame Nora for not trusting him with the cash register yet.  She accepted him as an employee based on Garth's good word, but she would be crazy to trust a strange alpha requesting employment with pay under the table until he can “replace his lost documents.”

Not that he minds the simpler work.  Even cleaning the bathrooms is better than dealing directly with the customers until he learns to relax and not assume everyone coming into the store is a Novak henchman.  Plus he'd be the first person to admit that his people skills are rusty.  He'd grown up with power and prestige and while he likes to think he's not a stuck up jerk, he's aware that he's not exactly sure how to deal with people on an even footing.  Most of his relationships with people have either been professional, or sexual in nature with no actual emotional involvement.

In fact he barely knows how to act around friends, although Balthazar is really the only person he can say is truly a friend and not just an acquaintance.  He's never been sure how that happened.  Balth just suddenly appeared in his life and didn't let Castiel’s shitty social skills drive him away.

Thinking of Balthazar makes him smile.  His friend would most definitely swallow his tongue if he could see Castiel now.  Stocking shelves in a country store.  Wearing faded, second-hand jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt instead of Armani.  With a uniform vest and a name tag pinned to his chest.  He wishes he could have brought Balthazar to the thrift store where he'd done his best to build himself a new wardrobe.  The look on his friend's face would have been priceless.

The imagined squawking and flailing distracts Castiel long enough for the pair of betas to finish their business in the store.  It's a relief not to hear about the progress of the breakdown of his family's reputation, even though he's glad that those children are being found and returned to their families.  He hadn't been able to find all the breeding camp locations before he leaked the evidence against his brothers, but he couldn't wait any longer to find out.  The longer he went without acting, the more children were being snatched from their lives.

“Steve?”

A hand on his shoulder startles him and he jerks his eyes up to look at his new employer.

Nora smiles reassuringly.  “I didn't mean to startle you.  You were spaced out for a minute.”

He’d heard her, but he's still not used to answering to his new name.  “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to waste time you're paying me for-”

She cuts him off with a head shake and and a negligent wave of her hand.  “It's alright, you've been working hard all day.”  She grins a little, and he notes that she's very lovely.  Her soft beta scent and sweet voice must be very attractive to anyone who appreciates the female form.  “Too hard in fact.  You know you get breaks, right?”

He drops his eyes so she won't see his pain when he explains his actions.  “I'm sorry, I just needed to keep busy.”  Keeping himself occupied also keeps him centered.  And he enjoys the simpler tasks she's had him doing so far.  More than he thought he would.

“Well just don't work yourself into the ground.”  The warning is tempered by her friendly tone.  “And we're done for today, so you can get out of here any time now.”

He looks down at the partially filled box of Snickers in his hands.  “I'll finish with this first.  It'll only take me a few minutes.”

“That sounds great.”  She pats his arm.  “I'm going to count out the register and do the paperwork.  Say something before you leave so I can lock up after you, okay?”

Her smile widens when he agrees, and she leaves him to finish his task.  As a beta, her scent doesn't change much with her moods, so he may just be imagining it, but it has less of a sharp edge to it now.  He hopes that means he's earning her trust.

He finishes his work and takes the crushed boxes out to the trash before he signs out on his timesheet.  He checks with Nora one last time to make sure she doesn't need anything more from him, then bids her goodbye before leaving.

When he opens the door to leave, he's followed by the tinny laughter of a little motion-activated witch decoration hanging just outside.  The whole front of the store is decorated for the upcoming holiday, with a spooky forest painted across the windows, and a mini graveyard with plastic headstones is set up on the sidewalk to either side of the doors.  There are fluttering cloth ghosts hanging from the eaves, and a chair set up off to one side with a fake skeleton dressed in ripped and dirty farmer's clothes.

The house where he's renting a room from Sam and Eileen Winchester is also decorated, although it's less B-movie scary and more Martha Stewart-esque.  As he walks through the deepening gloom of evening back to the Winchester B&B, he takes in the decorations of other houses and businesses on his way.  

Halloween has never been a holiday that pings very firmly on his radar.  His hectic schedule hardly gave him time to pay much attention to the major ones, and even then, if he was at a holiday gathering it was probably a huge production allowing his family to show off their power, money, and prestige.  He would hardly consider those parties a holiday celebration.

The residents of Silverton seem to have embraced the holiday very firmly and he wonders if this is a yearly occurrence or if it's just a special occasion this year because of the harvest moon.  From what little he's gleaned from his conversations with Eileen, Silverton is primarily inhabited by Weres.  Despite what humans believe, Halloween is not a special holiday to the Were community.  It's only when it coincides with the harvest moon, as it will this year, that it becomes remarkable.

He's very keenly aware of the upcoming full moon, even if he's never really paid attention to Halloween specifically.  His ruts have always been tied to the full moon.  Not all Weres sync with the moon, and his brother Lucifer had always claimed it made him special.  Castiel doesn't believe in all that mystical crap his brother was always going on about, and he prefers to think he's just lucky that he isn't ever surprised by his cycle.

It's close.  He can feel it itching under his skin as the days pass.  The buildup of hormones always make him more aggressive and irritable a few days beforehand, his mood changing as the moon goes from a sliver to a fat disc in the sky.

It had been embarrassing discussing his need for time off with Nora so soon after starting his new employment.  Having spent the last ten years answering to no one but his older brothers he hadn't needed to talk to anyone about his needs.  His secretary already knew his patterns and scheduled his meetings around it.

Nora had been understanding, though.  And appreciative that he knew in advance.  Now he just needs to make arrangements with his hosts.  He doubts there will be much issue with it since the B&B is owned by an alpha/omega couple.

As he passes house after house decorated for the holiday, he's disappointed the full moon will be on Halloween this year.  He'd like to see the children in their costumes.  They probably won't be trick or treating since the news is reporting another snow storm coming in that day, but Eileen had told him about the huge celebration being held at the new Rec Center this year.

The wind reaches chilled fingers down the collar of his coat and he shivers, pulling his scarf up to his chin.  It's the one Dean wrapped around his neck the last time he saw the omega, and he's wearing the beanie as well.  They're both knitted from red and brown yarn, and kind of ugly, but he can't bring himself to replace them.  He's not sure if they were intended as a gift or just a loan, but he will return them if asked.

He's reached the front lawn of the Winchester B&B when he's startled by the buzz of his phone in his pocket.  A flash of panic freezes him in place, his fight or flight instinct making him brace for battle.  Who would be calling him?  No one knows his new number-

Except several people do know it now.  All of them citizens of Silverton.  And he's been waiting to hear from Bobby about his car for several days now.

Shaking his head at his paranoia, Castiel fishes his phone out.  The caller ID displays Singer Salvage, and Castiel sighs loudly at himself before tapping the screen to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey there, Steve!  How's it going?  You finally get over that cold?”

A smile twitches at the corner of Castiel's lips.  “Hello Garth.  I'm well, thank you.”

“I really am glad to hear that!”  Garth's enthusiasm bubbles through the airwaves.  “Are you getting settled in okay?”

Despite the icy cold wind plucking at his clothing, Castiel lingers outside.  He looks up at the front of the Winchester B&B, which is actually a small inn.  He's only lived there for a matter of days, but he already feels comfortable there.  Sam and Eileen have made him feel welcome, and there's something about the place that makes him feel like he's home as soon as he walks through the doors.  “Yes,” he says, smiling at the fact that it's the truth.  “I'm actually just returning home from work.”

“You're working already?  That's great!  I told Nora you'd be a hard worker.”

Castiel isn't sure how Garth would know that about him, but he doesn't comment on it.  “Thank you for vouching for me.”

“Hey, that's what friends are for, man.”

Castiel blinks.  Are they friends?  They hardly know each other.  But Garth sounds completely sincere in his declaration.  He clears his throat, uncertain how to react.  “Yes, well.  You still have my thanks.”

“Ain't no problem, buddy!  But anyway, I bet you're wondering why I called, so I'll get right to it.  We finally got the radiator replaced and your car's ready for you whenever.”

“I can come pick it up now if it isn't too late.”  

“That shouldn't be a problem.  I'm about to head out, but Dean’ll be here.  I'll let Bobby know you're on your way.”

After getting a quote on the cost of the repairs so he knows how much cash to bring he thanks Garth and ends the call.  He's about to make his way up the drive to the house when someone calls for his attention.

He turns to see an older man hurrying up the sidewalk to meet him, smiling and waving.  Castiel suppresses a confused frown and waits with polite patience for the man to reach him.

“Hello there,” the man says with a friendly smile as he holds out a hand to shake.  “Sorry to chase you down like this, but when I realized you're not just a weekend guest, I  wanted to welcome you to town.  My name is Father Zachariah Adler.  Most folks call me Zach.  I’m the pastor at the local Church.”

Castiel accepts Zachariah’s offered hand, and finds his own gripped firmly.  Because Castiel has been outside for a while his fingers are cold, and they feel burned by the heat of the other man's.  He pulls back as soon as is socially acceptable and tucks his hands in the pockets of his coat.  For the first time since he took on his new name, he doesn't stutter over it when he introduces himself.  “Hello.  I'm Steve Castle.”

“Great to meet you, Steve!” Zachariah steps a little closer, and Castiel catches his scent.  It's thin, obviously beta.  “I promise I'm not a crazy stalker or anything.  But I live across the street-” he gestures behind him to a modest brick house with the same pitched roof most of the buildings in Silverton sport, “-and I see most of the comings and goings over here.”

Easy access doesn't mean he has to pay attention at all times, but Castiel doesn't say so.   His hackles prickle, and he can scent the sudden aggression seeping from his pores.  “How do you know I'm not just on vacation?”

Zachariah either doesn't notice the change in Castiel's scent, or he doesn't care.  He laughs as if Castiel has told a great joke.  “It's a small town, and gossip is the most entertaining thing folks around here have to indulge in.  Nora's family join me at church every Monday.”  His smile dims.  “Although we don't see Nora as often as we'd like.”

Castiel relaxes slightly.  It _is_ a small town, and he's already noticed the curious looks he garners when he's out in public.  It adds to his paranoia, but he realizes that his presence will be something the locals will wonder about.  Sam had explained to him that they get tourists for various outdoor activities ranging anywhere from skiing to camping and hiking, but due to the town's remote location, they don't really get a lot of new residents.  

“You're more than welcome to join us for services,” Zachariah offers, perking back up.  “I'm always happy to welcome new friends to our little community.”

“I'll consider it.”  It's a lie.  Castiel was raised in a strictly religious environment, but he'd stopped going to church as soon as he was old enough to get away with it.  He's never felt a need to display his faith publicly, choosing instead to commune with the gods on his own.  And since he's learned what extremes his siblings have gone to, he is even more uncomfortable with established religion.

His answer seems to be enough for Zachariah.  The pastor smiles in delight, and reaches out to squeeze Castiel's arm.  “That's wonderful.  I hope we see you there soon.”

The touch makes Castiel stiffen again, but Zachariah still seems oblivious.  He says his goodbyes and is soon bustling back across the street.  Castiel watches him with narrowed eyes, trying to determine why he feels a sense of threat.  The man had been perfectly friendly, and none of his actions were anything but polite, but the hair on the back of Castiel's neck is still standing on end, and his skin prickles uncomfortably.

He can practically feel the aggressive hormones bubbling inside- oh.  Of course.  Hormones.  His rut will be starting within the next twenty-four hours, and on top of that he's jumpy about strangers just in general.

He pulls a hand from the warmth of his pocket and runs it over his head, tugging the beanie down lower over the back of his neck.  Maybe someday he'll no longer feel like he needs to constantly watch over his shoulder.  He hopes so.  Stress is something he's lived with for most of his life, but actually fearing for his safety is unfamiliar.  It's not like he grew up in the mafia, after all.

He huffs a bitter laugh and the wind immediately whips away the puff of steam.  The mafia deals in theft, drugs, and slave trafficking, but at least they do it purely from greed.  His brothers do all of those things because they believe it's the will of the gods.  Heading a crazy cult might actually make his family worse than the mafia.

A shiver runs through his body, but he's unsure whether it's from the horror of what he was inadvertently a part of, or the cold.  He can't do anything about the former, so he addresses the latter by continuing his trek up to the house.  Warmth suffused with the sweetness of pumpkins and the savory scent of roasting meat greets him when he opens the door, and his distress eases almost immediately.  He can hear the television in the common room nearby, and voices of other guests raised in lively discussion, but the foyer is empty.  He takes a deep breath through his mouth and nose at the same time, pulling in the combined scents of food and a happily mated couple deep inside his lungs and letting it soothe him further.

Footsteps and a blink of sensor activated lights announce Eileen's presence before he catches the scent of dandelions that surrounds her like a cloud of sunny summer days, even in the chill of autumn.  She greets him with a wide smile, signing her words as she speaks.  “Hello, Steve.  Good day?”

His knowledge of sign language has already expanded quite a bit from “thank you” and “I love you" thanks to her instruction, but it's still rudimentary, so he keeps his reply simple.  He signs and speaks at the same time just as she does whenever they talk since he asked her for lessons.  “Yes, it was.”  He spells out b-u-s-y since he doesn't know the correct sign for it.  “But, good.”

Her smile widens.  “It’s been busy-” she forms the sign deliberately, waiting for him to copy it before nodding and moving on “-around here too.  Getting a lot of cooking done for the Harvest Moon celebration.”

Disappointment stabs through him.  One of the things he enjoys most about staying with the Winchesters is Eileen and her godmother Mildred’s cooking.  He had a personal chef back home, but nothing they made quite compares to the simple home cooked meals provided to guests of the B&B.  He’s going to miss out on the feast this year.

“I’ll be sad to miss whatever you’re making,” he says, slowly so he can keep up with the signs he knows.  

Eileen frowns.  “You won’t be joining us?”

He shakes his head, and even though it’s unusual to be shy about mating cycles he feels his cheeks heat anyway.  He’s obviously spent far too much time around humans, because their habit of keeping everything dealing with their reproductive systems hush hush has rubbed off on him.  Despite his blush, he doesn’t hesitate over his explanation.  “I’ll be in rut.”

Her mouth forms an O of understanding, and then she chuckles.  “You won’t miss out.  You’ll still need to eat and Sam can bring your meals up to your room.” She gives him a sly wink.  “We’ll try to save you a caramel apple.  No promises, though.  Dean usually eats most of them before anyone else gets a chance.”

Her words are meant to be teasing, but they draw an irresistible picture in his mind of Dean’s eyes shut in ecstasy as he sinks his fangs into an apple, juices running down over his chin.  Heat boils up under Castiel’s skin and he has to shake the image away before he embarasses himself.  “I appreciate the thought,” he manages to say in a completely normal tone.

Eileen tilts her head at him in consideration.  “You look like you’re hungry now.”

Starved.  But not just for food.  “It’s been a while since lunch,” he admits.

“Dinner will be ready soon, but I can get you a snack if you’d like.”

It smells delicious, and he can’t wait to see what she’s prepared.  But he told Garth that he’d be out soon to pick up his car.  It shouldn’t take him too long since the salvage yard is only about five miles outside of town.  The dinner buffet should still be in full swing by the time he returns.  “No, thank you.  I’m going to go out to Bobby’s and pick up my car.  I shouldn’t be gone too long.  I’ll eat when I get back.”

Her lips purse, and she points a finger at him.  “Stay.”

He blinks at the doorway she disappears through, wondering what that was about.  But she quickly returns with something wrapped in a napkin held out to him.  She flips the napkin back to reveal a slice of zucchini bread.

He accepts the offering and smiles at her kindness.  She had seemed wary of him when he first arrived, but she’s warmed to him over the last few days, especially since he asked her for sign language lessons.  Spending a little time together every day talking about trivial things, and letting her tease him when he makes an error with the signs she teaches him has created a budding friendship between them.  

He taps his fingers to his chin and brings them forward in a silent _thank you._ She responds _you’re welcome_ with a bright smile.  

She excuses herself to go back to the kitchen, and Castiel shoves half the bread into his mouth as he hurries up to his room to retrieve enough cash to cover what he owes Bobby.  He eats the second half of the bread on the way back downstairs, pausing as he passes a mirror in the hall.  He hasn’t shaved since he left San Diego and his beard is thickening along his cheeks and jaw.  He wonders if he should return to his room and groom himself properly and has taken a single step back in that direction when he remembers that he’s just picking up his car.  He’s not picking someone up for a date.

But he does brush the crumbs out of his whiskers before he steps away from the mirror.

The drive to Bobby's is short, but he still enjoys the view.  The trees are whipping wildly in the wind carrying in the storm, the last of the red and gold leaves clinging stubbornly to their branches.  The evergreens stand out proudly, their tips tilting almost graciously under the onslaught.  The storm isn't supposed to arrive for another day, but Castiel suspects it may show up a little earlier than expected.

When he pulls his borrowed jeep into the gravel in front of Bobby's house, the graying sky is darkening even further as the sun sinks behind the mountain peaks.  A shiver wracks his body when he opens his door and discovers that the temperature is also dropping quickly.  He tugs his cap more firmly over his ears and hurries up the stairs to the relative shelter of the porch.  It doesn't take long after he rings the doorbell before it's answered.

Bobby squints up at him.  “You here for your car?”

“Yes.  Garth called to let me know it's finished.”

“Sure is.”  He rolls his chair back from the portal and speaks over his shoulder.  “Come on in before you get blown away out there.”

Castiel obeys, closing the door firmly behind him.  Then he follows Bobby to his office.  He pulls his hat off and tucks it into his pocket and looks around the room while Bobby wheels around his desk and starts rummaging through stacks of papers and folders.  His eyes fall on a small, old-fashioned tv on a stand off to the side, at Bobby's eye level.  It's on, but muted, and currently tuned to a news station.  

His mouth goes dry when he sees an image of his brother behind the news anchor.  Lucifer is wearing orange coveralls, his wrists cuffed and a chain connecting them to ankle shackles.  Two burly police officers flank him, both looking like they'd rather beat him down than guide him through the prison.  The scrolling text at the bottom of the screen says _cult leader to be kept in solitary confinement for his own protection._

Despite the danger, Lucifer is looking straight into the camera, his lips twisted in a confident smirk.  Castiel knows Lucifer isn't looking at _him_ , but he still feels the accusation and the promise of retribution in his gaze.

“He don't look too concerned, does he?  Think he knows something we don't?”

Castiel jerks his eyes away from the tv to find Bobby watching him with an unreadable expression.   _Not about me,_ he thinks, _he can't know._ “Like what?”

Bobby shrugs.  “Maybe he thinks he'll get away with it.”

A snarl curls Castiel's lips back from his fangs.  “No.  He won't.”  Castiel won't allow it.  

He maintains enough control over himself not to say that last part out loud.  Especially since he has no idea what exactly he'll do if Lucifer manages to get free even with all the evidence Castiel compiled against him.

Bobby lifts an eyebrow at him, but doesn't comment on Castiel's aggressive behavior.  “Well, I hope you're right.  What he did to those kids…” he trails off, shaking his head sadly.

A memory which plagues Castiel whether he's awake or asleep comes upon him.  A little girl with whiskey brown eyes lightened by the ring of omega gold around the pupil, staring at him with terror from behind the bars of her cage.  

Castiel's eyes burn and he blinks hard against the tears the memory always coaxes from him.  His voice is barely more than a whisper.  “What he did is an abomination.”

Bobby's eyes sharpen.  “I take it you don't believe in Lucifer's doctrines.”

“No,” Castiel growls, unconsciously baring his teeth.  “He's insane.  The whole idea that we can regain the power of the wolf through… ‘ _proper breeding_ ’... it’s _sick._ ”

For a long moment Bobby stares at him, assessing.  His head dips in a slow nod.  “That it is,” he says gruffly before turning his attention back to his paperwork.

Castiel doesn’t know why he feels like he’s passed some kind of a test, but something changes between them in that moment.  A tension that he hadn’t even been aware of eases.  He’d almost say Bobby’s pheromones shifted, but since the older man is human, that’s not possible.  It’s probably just Castiel’s imagination.

Bobby finally comes up with the folder he was looking for.  He flips it around on the desk and explains the charges to Castiel.  

“When you go out to get the keys from Dean, tell him I said to throw a set of snow chains in the trunk for you,” Bobby says with a small smile.  “Free of charge.  Use ‘em so we don’t have to pull you out of a ditch this winter.”

“Thank you.” Castiel is touched by the gesture, even if he doesn’t quite know how to respond to it.  

Gratitude seems to be enough for Bobby.  After accepting Castiel’s wad of cash, he waves him away impatiently.  “Dean’s outside somewhere.  If he ain’t in the garage out back, there’s a red button just inside the door.  Hit it to set off a bell and he’ll come runnin’.”

Castiel thanks Bobby again and then retreats from the office.  He hears a soft _“good luck”_ but when he turns at the door and looks back, Bobby is sorting through folders, grumbling to himself.  Great, now his paranoia has him jumping at sounds as well as shadows.  

Shaking his head at himself, he goes in search of Dean.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for going so long without an update. This chapter was a struggle, and I have 4 versions of it sitting in my folders. It didn't want to cooperate with me at all. *kicks it*
> 
> I know a lot of you wondered if Castiel went into rut at the same time Dean went into heat. He didn't, but there's more on that to come :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Kinda noncon-ish.

Finding the garage isn’t difficult.  Over the wind that is tugging insistently at Castiel’s clothing he can hear music.  He knows the song, something from the early 80’s he thinks, although he wouldn’t be able to name it or the artist.  Following his ears, he finds a huge garage with three vehicle bays.  Two of the doors are pulled down against the weather but the one on the far left is open, revealing the familiar trunk of his own car.

As he approaches he can see Dean standing near the back wall at a work bench.  His back is to Castiel, so it’s unclear what he’s doing, but his head is hunched down over a project.  His hips bop and sway to the music, making Castiel smile.  Maybe it’s because Dean has always been so stoic in Castiel’s presence, but somehow he never pictured him dancing to 80’s hairband rock.

Although to be honest, many of his recent imaginings have been of a more… graphic nature.

Because of the volume of the music and the wind carrying away his scent, Castiel’s approach goes unnoticed.  So when he reaches the door of the garage, he clears his throat and speaks loudly.  “Hello, Dean.”

Dean’s head snaps around, his green eyes wide with surprise.  

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says as he steps inside out of the wind.  Despite how loud the music is, it’s quieter inside.  “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Dean’s shoulders start to relax, and his chin dips in acknowledgement.  He sets down whatever he’s working on, grabs a rag from the bench, and starts wiping down his hands.  He lifts one, and beckons Castiel further into the building before reaching for the knob of a nearby stereo and turning it down to a more reasonable level.  

Castiel obeys Dean’s summons and walks further into the garage.  It smells of old rubber and chemicals - oil, and something stringent - so at first Castiel doesn’t smell it.  He’s about halfway into the garage when Dean's scent hits him.

Sweet butter, with just a hint of maple and something toasted.  

His whole body locks up, his muscles bunching in preparation.  His mouth drops open and he pulls in the scent of _Dean_.  Despite the chemicals tainting the air, it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever experienced, and a low sound rumbles up in his chest.  

The sound makes Dean tense, his limbs sliding into a defensive stance.  He eyes Castiel warily, watching for the slightest twitch of movement.  His scent becomes stronger, sweeter somehow, and his lips lift away from his teeth in a warning snarl.

The defiant growl triggers something in Castiel’s brain.  How _dare_ his mate defy him?

Adrenaline pumps through his blood, and his skin goes hot and tight all over.  He bares his own teeth, and his fingers curl, and he takes a single step forward.

In a blink, Dean is moving.  In the wrong direction.  He’s moving away from Castiel - _trying to escape._  And he’s fast, agile.  He doesn’t even try to circle around the Mercedes, instead he surprises Castiel by going up and over it.  

If he were in his right mind, Castiel might be upset at the damage Dean’s boots might make to the paint, or concerned about the loud pop the roof makes when Dean’s weight lands on it.  But he’s not.  His instincts are screaming at him - chase, capture, _mate._  

And he obeys them, breaking into a run.  Dean has the advantage of slightly longer legs, but Castiel has always enjoyed running, and he’s got the stamina to keep up.  Gravel and fallen leaves crunch loudly under their feet, and the wind is roaring almost as loudly as Castiel's heartbeat in his ears.  His lungs pump oxygen in, feeding it into his bloodstream with the adrenaline, and he puts on an extra burst of speed when he sees Dean nearly slide off his feet going around a corner.

He whips a hand out and grabs the bumper of a nearby junker so he’ll keep his balance as he goes around the same corner, and he barely registers the spark of pain when a ragged piece of metal slices through his palm.  All it does is spur him on because Dean is gaining distance, and Castiel _cannot_ let him escape.  A complex mix of hormones that doctors still don’t completely understand are filling him with strength and he digs down deep for every trickle of speed it provides him.  

Ahead of him Dean takes another turn and this time Castiel doesn’t see him right away when he comes around the same corner.  He slides to a stop, even though every cell in his body is screaming at him to keep running.  But he doesn’t know this maze of scrap metal and broken glass the way Dean does, and there is still a spark of intelligence fighting against the animal instinct driving him forward.  He lifts his head to the wind and pants, pulling in the scents of rust and rubber.  He focuses on the sounds around him, tuning out the whistle of the wind through cracked windows and missing doors.

He catches the barest hint of butter on the air, which means Dean is upwind.  Just faintly he can hear pounding footsteps on a solid surface.  His eyes drop to the ground and he sees that ahead of him the gravel gives way to asphalt.  It’s cracked and pitted with age, and a burst of fear that Dean might trip and injure himself on the uneven surface spurs him on again.

Turning so that his face is in the wind, Castiel follows his nose.  It doesn’t take long before he catches sight of Dean ahead of him, bent over and gulping in great lungfuls of air.  Despite the fact that Castiel is upwind of him, something makes Dean’s head snap up.  He snarls again before sprinting away.  

His strides are long, but he’s no longer gaining distance.  He’s winded, and it’s obvious he won’t be able to run much longer.  That knowledge nearly makes Castiel howl with triumph, and he puts on one more burst of speed when Dean careens around another corner.

This time when Castiel follows, he stumbles to a halt.  The corridor of broken vehicles ends several yards ahead, and unless he’s going to start climbing the fragile looking stacks, Dean is trapped.

Dean whirls around, and despite the fact that Castiel is nearly out of breath, his lungs stutter at the sight.  The omega stands firm, his feet planted apart and his hands spread with fingers curled into claws.  His fangs are bared, and his eyes practically glow with aggression.

Everything about his body language screams _*just you fuckin’_ try _it*._

If Castiel wants him, he’s going to have to fight for every inch of ground.  He’ll have to attack, to force Dean to submit.  To bare his throat and his belly and the sweet spaces between his thighs.  And Castiel _wants_ it.  He wants to feel those teeth and claws against his own skin, and to feel the bunch of muscles straining against him.

But not like this.  Not unless Dean wants it too.

He blinks, and just like that he snaps out of his hormone driven craze.

A low growl emanates from deep in Dean’s chest and he snaps his teeth in warning.  But there’s no need.  Horror at what he was about to do sends ice through Castiel’s veins, and he stumbles back a step.  “No,” he pants.  “No.”

Now he can smell the panic threaded through Dean’s buttery scent.  It smells sour, like milk on the edge of going bad.  

Holding his hands out, palms forward, Castiel takes another step back.  “Dean, I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what I-”

“What’s the matter, Alpha?Don’t think you can take me?”

Castiel blinks again, this time at the unexpected sound of Dean’s gruff voice.  It’s even deeper than Castiel’s, which could be because it’s reverberating with another growl.  “You can talk?”

“I can kick your fuckin’ ass, too, Novak.”

Despite his fascination with Dean’s graveled voice, those words make everything around Castiel go silent.  His vision tunnels, and all he sees are accusing green eyes.  “You know who I am.”

Dean spits on the ground between them.  “Castiel Novak,” he says through bared fangs.  “Monster.”

The word breaks through Castiel’s shock.  “No.”

“Gonna take what you want, right, _Alpha_?” Dean snarls.  “Just like the rest of your brothers.”

“No, I…” The denial locks itself deep in his throat.  

His older brothers had always taken what they wanted.  His brothers bought the services of the omegas they were always parading on their arms for the public, but he has proof of years of abuse and theft of lives.  His eldest three brothers are going to prison because he leaked that proof.  

He thought he was above that behavior.  Better than them.  He’d never treated an omega as anything other than an equal.  He’d never joined any Rut Parties because he’d felt they were degrading to everyone involved.  He’d refused Lucifer’s invitations to his compounds to mate with his devoted followers.  

But he just chased Dean down and cornered him, with every intention of stripping him down and fucking him until they were both mindless with-

He pushes that thought away immediately when he feels the heat rising under his skin again.  It’s his rut.  Slightly early, and stronger than anything he’s experienced before.  Even now he feels an almost physical pull, like there’s a tether between their bodies and it’s tightening, forcing his body closer even as he strains against its pull.  

Gathering the pieces of his willpower back together, Castiel forces himself to take another step back.  And then another.  Dean’s expression goes slack with surprise, his shoulders dropping slightly and his fingers loosening.  His eyes are still narrow with suspicion.  He doesn’t trust what he’s seeing.

Castiel hates himself for making Dean look at him like that.  He hates that Dean’s buttery sweetness is tinged with the taint of fear and mistrust.  He hates that even if he hadn’t chased Dean down like a fucking animal that he’d still be a Novak.  

Because he may not have been involved in Lucifer’s cult, and Michael and Raphael’s slave trafficking.  But he shares their blood.  Their evil runs in his veins as well.  And he just proved it by nearly raping an omega.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.  The wind whips his words away, but he doesn’t have the strength to say them again.  Everything in him is fighting against leaving his omega behind, and it takes all his concentration to continue his retreat.

Just before Castiel slips away, Dean straightens and drops his hands to his sides.  His eyebrows come together in a frown that looks like concern, but it can’t possibly be that.  Castiel’s brain is drowning in rut hormones, and it’s messing with his perceptions.  

It takes time to find his way back out of the maze of the salvage yard.  He’d been too focused on Dean to pay attention to the turns they were taking, and on top of that the sun has gone down.  The moon hangs fat and red in the saddle of the mountain peaks, nearly full, lighting his way, but the paths are still unfamiliar and it takes him much longer to free himself from the confusing twists and turns than it had taken to get himself lost in there in the first place.  

He was stupid to get within a mile of Dean when he knew his rut was about to start.  Even when he was sick and congested Dean’s scent had invaded his senses, wrapping around him and tempting him with its siren song.  This is the first time he’s been around Dean while he’s completely healthy and the impact of his sweet omega scent is a shock to Castiel’s system.

Even now that he’s out of range of Dean’s pheromones, and the cold wind is chilling his overheated body, he still wants to turn around and retrace his steps.  His instincts are demanding that he claim his mate, and denying them makes his stomach twist painfully, and the shivers wracking his body are from more than just the cold.  He’s never experienced withdrawal, but the symptoms are recognizable.  

When he finally gets free of the salvage yard’s maze-like corridors, he’s near the garage where his Mercedes is parked.  He should take it, but he doesn’t know where the keys are.  And there’s no way he can ask Dean.  He’s afraid to even go into the house to talk to Bobby.  He needs to leave.  Now.

So he climbs into his borrowed Jeep, and starts it with the keys he still has in his pocket.  He rolls all the windows down before turning the Jeep’s nose toward the road that will take him back to Silverton.  He needs to get home where he can lock himself away to sweat out the rest of his rut.  

He’s not sure what he’ll do afterwards.  He should leave Silverton.  Dean knows who he is, which means Castiel is not safe there.  

A low moan escapes him at the thought of leaving.  He thought he’d found a home.  A haven.  But if Dean says anything…

Sweat breaks out over his skin despite the frigid air buffeting him.  He moans again, but this time it’s because he’s getting hard, and his jeans are far too tight.  

“Don’t think about Dean,” he mutters.  Which is a mistake, because just saying the omega’s name makes saliva flood his mouth.  

Before Castiel had sent him running in a panic, he’d smelled so sweet.  Like fresh, buttered pancakes.  The kind that are so fluffy they seem to melt on the tongue…

“Don’t think about _tongues_ ,” he growls.  

Fuck.  His ruts have never been more than a mild annoyance, but this is different.  He’s painfully hard, just from thinking about Dean.  It’s a common joke that alphas aren’t in control of themselves while in rut, but it’s rarely true.  Most alphas are grouchy and aggressive, and overly horny of course, but control isn’t an issue.  The knotheads that the media are so happy to plaster all over the news are few and far between, and usually assholes even when they aren’t in a rut.  

But right now?  Castiel feels like an asshole knothead.

Running a hand over his face, wiping sweat out of his eyes so he can focus on the road, he tries not to think about that chase.  The urgent thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of cornering his prey.  The brief moment of triumph when Dean had looked at him with the same lust.

No, that can’t be right.  His mind is playing tricks on him again.  Dean’s eyes had burned with anger, and his scent was sour with panic.  

But there had been something… an undertone of sweetness that tickled at Castiel’s senses.

“ _Stop_ ,” he growls at himself.  

He can’t stop though.  He has nothing but the road to concentrate on while he’s driving, and the trip is only a few miles.  Even pulling into town and navigating the neighborhoods until he’s pulling up next to the Winchester B&B fails to distract his brain from picking apart every moment he can remember of his confrontation with Dean.  

When Dean went around that first corner, did Castiel catch sight of him grinning?  Had the wind carried a gruff laugh to his ears?  Had the sourness of Dean’s scent receded just slightly when Castiel found him trapped in that dead end?

Had Dean led him there on purpose?

That last thought nearly has him turning the Jeep around.  His arm muscles cramp up with the conflicting orders from his brain, but he just barely manages to steer the vehicle into his designated parking space.  His hands shake as he puts the Jeep in gear, rolls up the windows, and shuts off the engine.  The trembling spreads to the rest of his limbs, and he has to try several times to get the door open.  He nearly faceplants when he gets out of the Jeep, catching himself at the last moment on the door.  

Walking up to the B&B is torture.  The jeans he had bought because they were soft and comfortable feel like a vise around his dick, and his whole body feels rubbed raw by his clothing.  If he can manage to make it to his room, he’ll be lucky if he doesn’t shred his clothing trying to get it off.  

Gods, he hopes that he can make it to his room without anyone seeing him in this condition.  He’s never been embarrassed by his ruts before, but this is ridiculous.  He’s barely able to keep himself upright, and his clothing is soaked through with sweat.  He probably smells atrocious.  He’s sure he looks even worse.

The light that alerts Eileen when someone comes into the house blinks when Castiel pushes the door open.  He winces and quickly pushes the door shut against the wind, then shuffles quickly toward the stairs that lead up to his room, sending up a prayer that she won’t catch him before he can slip out of sight.

His prayer is only partially answered.  Eileen isn’t the one who finds him.  Instead, it’s Sam that steps into the foyer.  His greeting smile falls away, and his whole face wrinkles up when Castiel’s scent reaches him.  

“Steve, are you alright?” Sam asks, keeping a cautious distance between them.  His hazel eyes show the same concern Dean’s did when Castiel last saw him.  

Castiel slows, but still sidles towards the stairs.  “Fine.  I’m fine.  Just…” he nearly trips on the first step, catching himself on the banister.  Sam makes an abortive move, as if he wants to help Castiel.  But even civilized alphas know better than to get in each other’s personal space during a rut.  “My rut… I need…”

Sam's eyes flick down, taking in Castiel's condition.  His voice is cautious, as if he's worried he might startle Castiel.  "Is that blood?"

Castiel looks down at himself and realizes there are flecks of red on his legs.  He lifts his palm from the banister, and grimaces when he sees a smear of blood staining the wood.  The cut is oozing sluggishly and he'll need to take care of it soon.  Weres are immune to tetanus, but not infection.  "I cut my hand.  I can take care of it."

Sam nods his understanding although he still looks wary.  “Do you need anything?”

 _Your brother in my bed, naked and presenting._ Castiel curses himself for the thought when it sends another spike of heat through his belly.  “No thank you, Sam,” he manages to grunt.  “Just privacy.”

“Okay."

He hates the undercurrent of distrust in Sam's voice.  Over the last few days he'd begun to think of the other alpha as a friend. Now, because of a wildly out of control rut, Sam looks at him like he's someone to tread carefully around.  He doesn't even know yet that Castiel nearly attacked his brother, and if he finds out... Or does he know already?  Castiel doubts Dean has told him anything yet or Sam would be kicking him out on the street rather than eyeing him like a half wild creature and asking him if he needs anything.

Fear that he may have to go through this rut without shelter eases the pain in his groin, although it's hardly a relief.  He wouldn't be upset with Dean for having Sam evict him for his behavior.  He'd deserve it after what he’d done at the salvage yard.  But he isn't sure what he'll do in the meantime.

He can't worry about it at the moment.  Sam isn't kicking him out yet, and Castiel's more urgent need is for privacy.  He gives Sam a jerky nod and mumbles his gratitude before dragging himself up the stairs to his room.

As soon as the door is shut behind him he fumbles for the fastening of his jeans, grumbling when the button refuses to come free under his trembling fingers at first.  With a curse, he gives up and presses the heel of his hand against his dick through the denim.  He moans at the pressure as he drags his hand over the hard length.  

He feels a tingle around the base where his knot will form when he's closer to coming, and he focuses on the area for a moment, pressing hard and humping his hips against his hand.  The knot starts to swell, and now the confining pressure of his jeans is a relief.  It's not the same as being squeezed by the hot, slick channel of a lover, but it's close enough that it only takes a few strokes over the head of his dick where it's straining against the denim before he's soaking the fabric with his first orgasm.

It's hardly pleasurable, but it's such a relief that his knees go weak and he sinks down to kneel on the floor.  He keeps one hand clamped over his knot, massaging it through a second orgasm. His other hand is braced on the floor, holding him up so he doesn't collapse into the carpet and risk staining it.  As it is, he's sure this pair of jeans is a lost cause.  Washing the semen out isn't a big deal, but now there's a bloody hand print over his crotch which will likely stain.

"Fuck my life," he mumbles when he finally lifts his hand and sees the mess he's made.

His head is clearer now that his body has had some relief, but he almost misses the haze of arousal because at least it distracted him from memories of what he'd done to Dean.  He doesn't want to think of those lust crazed moments, but they play on repeat in his mind as he pulls himself to his feet and trudges into the bathroom.  Unlike other guests, he doesn’t have to share the bathroom even though it has a door leading to another bedroom on the other side.  Because that room is unoccupied, Castiel has exclusive rights to the bathroom, which is a blessing since he’ll be needing it often until his rut cools down.

The first thing he does is strip out of his filthy clothes.  He leaves them in a heap on the floor and avoids looking at himself in the mirror when he climbs into the shower.  He doesn't want to see evidence of the wild creature he'd become.  He wants to think of himself as a civilized alpha, the lawyer respected by his peers and colleagues.  

But that man is Castiel Novak.  And apparently there is a monster hiding under his skin, just like his brothers.

He hisses when he steps under the too hot spray, and not just because of the sting of the water.  Anger at his family makes his fingers curl into threatening claws and his lips peel back from his fangs.  He won't be like them.  He lost control with Dean, and he won't allow that again.  He _will not_ be a Novak anymore.  He can't be Steve Castle anymore when he leaves Silverton - which he will as soon as his rut is over, because he can't stay where his true identity is known - but whatever name he chooses will be a symbol of a new beginning.  A rebirth as the man he wants to be and not the man his blood would make of him.

With that conviction firmly settled in his mind, he's able to relax.  He grabs a bar of unscented soap and starts rubbing it over his skin.  It stings against the cut on his palm, but the bleeding appears to have stopped so he ignores it.  Now that his rut is in full swing, even the silky glide of his own soapy hands is almost too much for him, but he forces himself to clean his entire body, sloughing away the layer of hormone laced sweat.  He avoids his groin until the last minute, but eventually his hands slips down into the springy strands of his pubic hair.

He groans, dropping his head back on his shoulders.  He washes between his legs, behind his balls, before he massages them with soapy fingers.  If he had lube instead of soap he might have lingered over his hole.  It may be considered strange by many alphas, but he loves being filled with fingers, or even a thick cock.  He's never taken an alpha as a lover, but he's been with beta males and human males, and he's well versed in the pleasures of switching.

Would Dean be willing to fuck him?  Or would he think the request to top for an alpha too strange?  

Unbidden, the image of Dean spread out beneath Castiel while he sinks down on Dean’s cock, using Dean's own slick to ease the way, fills Castiel's imagination.  In his fantasy Dean is murmuring encouragement, and just the memory of his voice has Castiel gasping, his dick swelling and bobbing between his legs until he gives in and wraps soapy fingers around it.  He grips his knot in his fist while he strokes the rest of his length with his other hand, twisting his palm over the head before each downstroke.

Within minutes, he’s coming hard, his release splattering across the tiled wall before washing away under the spray of hot water still pouring down over his body.  But he doesn’t stop stroking himself.  He imagines himself rocking on Dean’s cock while the omega strokes his knot, and a second orgasm rolls through him.  Letting his mind linger on what Dean would look like covered in his come even as they continue to fuck pulls a third wave of pleasure from his trembling body.

He nearly collapses against the wall because his legs are shaking so hard.  His knot and his balls ache, and he knows it’s only going to get worse.  He sighs and rests his forehead against the cool tiles while he lets the water rinse the soap from his skin.  

Guilt wells up in his chest.  Dean isn’t safe from him even when they are separated by miles.  Because Castiel can’t leave him alone even in the privacy of his own mind.  Which is all the more reason for him to leave Silverton.  He’ll be protecting them both if he moves on.

His gut twists painfully at the thought of going on the run again.  For just a few days he’d thought he’d found a new home.  A place where he could hide from his brothers in relative peace.  

Instead he’d found Dean.  Beautiful Dean, with omega eyes, and a broken voice.  And Castiel is going to walk away from him.  For both of their sakes.

He swallows down the mournful howl trying to clamour up from his throat.

It’s tempting to sink down in the tub and let the water wash away his sorrow, but he’s not so far gone that he isn’t cognizant of the other guests and their potential need for hot water.  So he fumbles with the knobs until the water turns off.  He pushes the curtain aside and reaches for a towel.  Before his rut started the thick cloth had been soft against his skin, but now it feels like rubbing himself with sandpaper.  

He ignores the discomfort, and the heat curling deep in his belly, and pats himself dry.  He rubs the towel over his hair for a few seconds before letting it drop down around his shoulders.  When he looks up, he catches his own eyes in the mirror.  The familiar deep blue is nearly gone, swallowed by the black of his pupils.  His skin is flushed, and there’s still a damp sheen all over his body.  His dick is already heavy with arousal.

With a sigh, he turns away from his reflection.  The next few days are going to be long and miserable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wouldn't be a Ltleflrt story if there wasn't a shower masturbation scene :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a moment of creepy blood-kink. Very brief, but kinda vivid.

The rut has its claws deep in Castiel.  He stinks with it, the tangy apple scent is sweeter, the cedar undertones smokier.  But even without his pheromones waving a red flag in Dean’s direction every time the wind shifts enough to bring Castiel’s scent to him, it would be obvious in the way sweat dampens Castiel’s skin even in the cold, and the way the thin ring of iris around his pupils almost looks purple as just a hint of alpha red seeps through the stormy blue.  

His whole body moves with each harsh breaths that he he sucks in then pushes out through his nose.  Color rides high in his cheeks.  His teeth are bared in challenge, and his muscles bunched in preparation to attack.  With the start of a dark beard, and the wind ruffling his hair, Castiel almost looks like the mythical werewolf their species is said to descend from.

He’s the sexiest fucking thing Dean has ever seen, and he wants to howl with rage that this alpha can’t be his.  Because he’s a fucking _Novak._  

There’s no way Dean is going to let himself be bred by a gods damned Novak.  He tenses, prepared to fight off the alpha.  He growls and snaps his teeth in challenge, because _fuck him_ if he’ll let Castiel see him as a meek little omega waiting for a knot.

And then all the aggression leaks out of Castiel’s stance.  His eyes go wide, the pupils contracting enough that Dean can no longer see the ring of alpha red around them.  Abject horror twists his expression, and he does something that Dean would never have expected in a million years.

Castiel stumbles back a step.

“No,” Castiel pants.  One hand comes up, palm out in a staying motion, as if he thinks Dean is going to be the dumb shit to close the space between them.  “No.”

What the hell?   _What the hell?_  It has to be a trick.  Castiel must be trying to lull Dean into a false sense of security.  

Fear bleeds into Dean’s system because he doesn’t know how to handle this.  Aggression he can counter with violence.  But mind games?  He’s failed against those tricks before.  

Castiel takes another step back.  “Dean, I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what I-”

Fuck. That.  Dean isn’t going to get caught in whatever trap this is.  So he goes on the offensive.  If he can get Castiel to attack him, then he’ll have a fighting chance.  Literally.  

“What’s the matter, Alpha?” he sneers.  He doesn’t realize he is going to speak until the words are coming, and he almost stumbles over his next words.  “Don’t think you can take me?”

Castiel doesn’t seem to notice the hitch in his voice.  He blinks stupidly at Dean, his head tilting to the side.  Dean can almost see his ears pricking up like a wolf trying to catch the sound of a hare running through underbrush.  “You can talk?”

Dean doesn’t want to engage in fucking conversation.  He wants to fight.  But apparently he’s going to have to keep talking - if his voice continues to cooperate - in order to goad Castiel into action.  “I can kick your fuckin’ ass, too, Novak.”

There is no doubt in him that he’s telling the truth.  Castiel may be an alpha, with the extra strength that comes with it.  But Dean is bigger, and he’s been wrestling with his alpha brother since they were old enough to toddle around and knock each other over.  Sam is freakishly huge compared to Castiel, but Dean is evenly matched with his brother.

Castiel goes still, and a shift in the wind carries his pheromones to Dean.  There’s something sharp and burnt drowning out the sweetness.  “You know who I am.”

Shit.  Dean hadn’t meant to let that slip, but it’s too late now.  And the secret never sat well with him anyway.  Maybe now Bobby will let him turn Castiel over to Jody so she can toss him behind bars with the rest of his brothers.  Dean spits on the ground between them.  “Castiel Novak,” he says through bared fangs.  “Monster.”

Castiel sucks in a sharp breath, like the word is a physical thing tearing into him.  His voice barely carries over the wind when he speaks.  “No.”

Rage that he would deny it makes Dean bold.  His voice is working, and he uses it with relish, injecting as much spite and disgust into it as he can.  “Gonna take what you want, right, _Alpha_?” Dean snarls.  “Just like the rest of your brothers.”

All the color drains out of Castiel’s face so suddenly that Dean expects him to either puke or pass out.  “No, I…” he swallows convulsively several times, making Dean think that he’s seconds from upchucking.  He takes a step back.  And then another.  His lips move again, and there’s no sound, but Dean can read his words well enough.   _“I’m sorry.”_

The wind shifts again, carrying Castiel’s scent.  Dean can still sense his rut, but all traces of sweetness are gone, leaving behind nothing but something bitter and burned.  It’s not the comforting scent of a warm fire, but something almost chemical that itches inside Dean’s throat.  

He frowns, and he feels his limbs moving to carry him toward the alpha.  But Castiel turns on a heel and disappears around the corner, leaving Dean alone.

A long moment passes.  Dean isn’t sure how long it is.  A minute?  Ten?  Maybe only a matter of seconds.  But his sense of the passage of time is skewed by his confusion.  

When it becomes clear that Castiel isn't going to return, Dean straightens from his defensive stance, arms and hands lax at his sides, and tries to figure out what just happened.  The roar of the wind seems to go quiet, despite the way it still tugs frantically at his hair and clothes, and it's nearly drowned out by his madly galloping heart.

Instead of relief that the wild-eyed alpha is backing off, Dean feels an intense sense of _wrongness._ An unpleasant tingle runs just under his skin, like needles trying to break through the thin barrier.  His body thrums with the need to chase after Castiel, to comfort him any way he can, even if it means he has to drop to his hands and knees and present himself for the alpha's pleasure.  To beg for his knot like a needy omega in a tacky, made-for-humans porno.

And seriously, _what the fuck_ is that about?

There's a lot about the situation putting a string of question marks above his head.  Not least of which is why he's hard in his pants, and leaking slick.  Holy shit, he'd been _enjoying_ himself during that chase - he thinks he might have even laughed at one point, although most of the chase is a blur - right up until he'd accidentally cornered himself and realized that rape was imminent and he'd trapped himself with an out of control alpha in fresh rut.

Thank the gods Castiel was upwind and didn’t sense Dean’s arousal.  He may have snapped out of his rut induced craze at the last moment, but if he’d caught a whiff of Dean’s slick he might have raged out again.

"Fuck," he mutters, running a palm over his face.  

The rough texture of his own voice reminds him of the words he'd spoken out loud.  Full sentences, even.  On a good day the most he can manage is a yes or no, or maybe a person's name.  But the lump that usually blocks his words with anyone but Sam had been completely gone when he challenged Castiel.  

The last time he'd been able to speak clearly to anyone but Sam is a period of his life he doesn't like to think about, but it reminds him of exactly why he'd threatened Castiel.  A shudder runs through him, and this time it's pure revulsion.  The Novak family stole his voice, and it makes him sick that it came back so easily for Castiel.

If only Castiel had ignored his warning.  If he'd taken even one step closer, Dean would have had an excuse to really tear into him.  Maybe rip into his throat and take _his_ voice away.

He can almost taste the coppery tang of of blood on his tongue.  It would be hot and tacky as it dripped down his chin, and his teeth would be stained with it when he lifted his head from Castiel's neck.  The mental image makes growl of satisfaction rumble in his chest, and he reaches down to palm himself through his jeans-

He jerks his hand away with a curse.  Seriously, _what the fuck?_ Why is he getting turned on by that?  Yeah he likes it rough, but he's never had fantasies like that before.

It has to be the lingering adrenaline in his system.  It's making him horny, and on top of his rage, it's playing tricks on his mind.  He hadn't enjoyed the chase either.  His heat only ended a few days ago so there must be some lingering hormones mixing with the adrenaline and that is what’s messing with his head.

Satisfied with that explanation, Dean takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with air no longer tainted by the delicious - _not delicious! -_ scent of Castiel's rut.  He breathes it out, and his heartbeat starts to calm.  He still feels antsy, his skin overly sensitive, but he writes it off as lingering hormones.  

Deciding he should be safe enough to return to the house, Dean begins to navigate his way through the salvage yard.  It's easy to find his way back despite the many turns he took, and he ignores the niggling voice in his head asking him how the hell he managed to corner himself despite knowing the place so well.  About halfway back he freezes and lifts his head to scent the air.

The wind is pushing roughly through the corridors created by the stacked metal corpses of old vehicles, kicking up dust and leaves and carrying the warning bite of snow.  But through it he still catches a hint of something.  His nostrils flare when he recognizes the tangy signature of Castiel's scent tangled with the copper of blood.

His eyes dart around, searching for the source for several seconds before landing on a smear of red too bright to be rust.  Without conscious command, his feet carry him over to the busted tailgate of an old Ford truck that hasn't seen better days since before Dean was born.  The blood is still tacky under his fingertips, and when he lifts them to his nose his eyes glaze over at the thick scent.

When did Castiel cut himself?  Dean's eyes drop down to the jagged twist of steel.  It's coated in rust and dirt, and probably a billion kinds of bacteria.  It’s practically an infection factory.

His heartbeat kicks up again, and before he realizes what he's doing he's running.  Long strides carry him quickly out of the salvage yard.  When he breaks out into open space, his eyes scan the gravelled area in front of the house, but he doesn't see the jeep. A glance in the direction of the garage is all it takes to determine that the Mercedes is still there.  Of course, because Dean has its keys.

He bursts into the house and heads straight for Bobby's office.  The old Human looks up from the paperwork scattered across his desk, little surprise showing in his expression even though he wouldn’t have smelled Dean coming.  He must have gotten enough warning from the sound of Dean slamming into the house.  He lifts an eyebrow and leans back in his chair when Dean sweeps in like the incoming storm.

Dean's hands are shaking when he lifts them to sign.  " _Do you know where he went?"_

"Who?"

Dean huffs in irritation and deliberately spells out C-A-S, rolling his eyes in a very clear _*Who else?*_

Bobby narrows his eyes, but doesn't otherwise acknowledge Dean's sass.  "He took off in my jeep.  Looked like he was in a bit of a hurry, so he didn't exactly stop to inform me where he was going.  Care to explain why he wasn't driving his own car?"

Shit hit the fan before Dean could hand over Castiel's keys.  But Dean doesn't explain.  He'd known Castiel took the jeep.  He just hopes it means he's not leaving Silverton yet.  The idea of the alpha taking off to parts unknown has Dean pacing the narrow confines of the office.  

What if Castiel decides to take off now that his cover is blown?  How will they find him?  If he's smart enough to ditch the jeep, it'll take forever to find his trail again.

Castiel is injured, although it can't be too bad.  There wasn't that much blood.  Not ten minutes ago Dean was fantasizing about tearing him apart, and he's aware that worrying about it now is kind of ridiculous.  But the scent of Castiel's blood lingers in his sinuses, and he really needs to wash his hands because it's making him anxious.

Or is it the lingering scent of Castiel's rut that's making him itch like his skin doesn't fit him right anymore?

Dean deliberately pushes that thought aside.  It's the blood that's bothering him.  And the fact that he fucked up and let it slip that he knows Castiel's true identity.  That was stupid as hell.

Maybe Castiel will go back to the B&B first.  He had a shitload of cash that he probably isn't willing to leave behind if he takes off.  Yeah, there's no way he'd leave that much cash if he's going on the run again.

Dean stops in the middle of the office and digs out his smartphone so he can send a message to Sam to keep Castiel there if he shows up.  Before he can text Sam though, Bobby interrupts him.

"What's going on, Dean?"

Dean opens his mouth to speak, but the lump is back.  He growls his frustration.  Why the fuck does it go away for Castiel, but he can't talk past it to Bobby, a man he loves like a father?

Bobby misinterprets the sound and glares at him.  "Don't give me attitude, boy."

Dean shoves his phone back in his pocket to free his hands.   _"No, sorry, that wasn't-"_ he cuts off with a wave and answers Bobby's question instead.   _“Cas knows I know who he is.”_

With a sigh Bobby lifts his ball cap and scratches at the wisps of hair flattened to his scalp before settling it back on his head.  “Well shit.  How did that happen?”

 _“It doesn’t matter.”_ Dean certainly doesn’t want to tell Bobby about what nearly went down in the junkyard.   _“He’s probably going to run, and it’s my fault.”_

Bobby looks like he wants to question Dean about that, but thankfully he doesn’t.  “Well, we gotta find him before his brothers do, or he’s going to be in deep shit.”

_“Why?”_

“Because he’s the one who turned ‘em in.”

Just like when Castiel turned and walked away from him out in the junkyard, time slows down and sound is muffled.  Dean stares at Bobby, uncomprehending.  His hands twitch and flutter, but he’s not able to really shape any words.

Bobby seems to understand what he wants to ask anyway.  He shoves a folder across the desk, and taps it with his fingers.  “Got this from Frank.  Took him a while to follow the trail, but he figured out that Castiel is the one who sent out all the evidence.  If he can find this, then eventually someone loyal to Castiel’s brothers is going to find it, and there’s going to be a manhunt.”

Dean stares at the simple manila folder.  Frank usually sends Bobby information electronically, but Bobby is old fashioned and likes to print everything out so he has a hard copy.  Dean understands.  Somehow having a physical copy makes the information seem more real.  He reaches out, but doesn't pick the folder up.  Instead he runs his fingers over the smooth surface.

Castiel turned his brothers in.  He gave the government information on how to find the breeding compounds, and the prisons where newly captured Weres are kept to be brainwashed.  Hundreds of children have been found so far, freed from their cages.  And that's not even counting the people who have been liberated from the compounds.

_It's so cold that his violent shivering almost makes him spill the warm broth she brought him.  He forces his fingers to stillness, unwilling to lose a drop.  He needs to keep up his strength so that when she finds the key, they can run and he won’t slow her down._

Dean blinks away the memory, but can't suppress the shiver at the phantom chill he feels whenever he thinks of the weeks he spent locked up in that cage.

Raising his hands, he signs slowly, his hands moving loosely through the words.   _"He could have still been involved.  Maybe he got angry with them and this is his revenge."_

Bobby pulls the folder out from under Dean's fingers and flips it open.  His eyes scan over the front page of the contents.  "I don't think so.  He was in here before he went outside, and the news was talking about Lucifer and we talked about it a bit."  He gestures at the tiny tv which is still on, but muted.  "If you'd seen his reaction, you wouldn't believe he was involved either.  I may not have the nose to suss out a man's emotions like you Weres, but I can still smell a lie.  He hates what the Novaks have done."

_"He's a Novak."_

"He's the white sheep in a herd of black."

An image of Castiel's horror stricken expression hovers behind Dean's eyes.

Dean had called Castiel a monster, but Castiel’s actions had proven otherwise.  He'd fought his rut, ignored his instincts, and walked away without laying a finger on Dean.

Guilt and confusion swirl unpleasantly in Dean's gut.  He lifts his hands.   _"I've gotta find him."_

"You gonna tell me what happened before he tore outta here?"  Bobby asks.  Thankfully he ignores Dean’s _I_ instead of _we._

There's no way he's going to admit that Castiel's rut shut down Dean's brain, or how close he'd been to either fighting or fucking the alpha.  He's still not sure which would have happened if Castiel hadn't resisted his rut.  He settles for a brief explanation that he hopes Bobby won't question too much.   _"He went into rut, and I reacted badly."_

Bobby raises an eyebrow, but thankfully he doesn't appear to want any more details.  "Well if he's in rut he probably won't get far."

It wouldn't be impossible for Castiel to function while in rut, but Dean hopes Castiel decides to ride it out before he takes off.  That'll give Dean time.  He can't let Castiel leave Silverton.  He still has his doubts, but if Castiel is the reason Lucifer's cult is being torn down there is no way Dean is going to leave him unprotected.

He pulls out his phone again and shoots a message off to his brother.   _Is Cas there yet?_

Sam's response comes quickly.   _He just got here a few minutes ago._

Dean slides his thumb over the screen, grunting in irritation when autocorrect messes up almost every word.   _Don't let him leave._

He shoves his phone in his pocket and ignores it when it vibrates against his hip.  He'll be there in person to answer Sam's questions soon.  To Bobby he signs _"You gonna be okay if I take off for a few hours?"_

Bobby huffs at Dean and waves a hand.  "I don't need you babysitting me all the time anyway.  Get out of here."

Dean's refrains from giving the open whiskey bottle on Bobby's desk a pointed look.  He doesn't have time to argue, and he's only planning on being out for a short time anyway.  He raps his knuckles against the desk once and then he spins on a heel and runs for his car.

Outside the wind is still howling and kicking up debris.  The surrounding trees are nearly bare now, their dead leaves stripped away by the incoming storm.  It's still officially Autumn for a while, but he can taste winter in the air and he doubts the snow dumped on them this time is going to melt away like it did the night Castiel arrived.  Winter has come to the mountains, no matter what the calendar says.

Halfway to Silverton rain begins to clatter against the Impala's windows, and it quickly turns to sleet.  When he pulls into the wide drive where guests park during their stay at the B&B and throws the door open, he winces when the icy droplets slice sharply into his skin.  It’s only extra incentive to get inside the house though, so he ducks his head against it and runs up to the door.

The heat inside is welcome, but he barely takes note of it.  He’s distracted by the scent of Castiel’s blood.  His eyes fall on the banister leading upstairs, and he rushes over to it just as Sam comes from the door leading to the kitchen with a soapy washcloth.  

“Dean?” Sam’s strides lengthen and he catches Dean’s sleeve.  Then his nose wrinkles and he jerks back slightly.  “Dude, didn’t your heat end a few days ago?”

Dean squints at the non sequitur.  He shakes free of Sam’s grip so he can sign.   _“Is Cas still here?”_

“Yeah, he went up to his room- hey wait!” Sam grabs him again when he turns to rush up the stairs.  “Tell me what’s going on.”

Huffing through his nose, Dean signs quickly.   _“I gotta make sure he doesn’t leave.”_

“He’s in rut.  I doubt he’s going anywhere.”

Hopefully.  But Dean has to make sure.  

His eyes drop to the blood on the banister.  It’s still fresh, so Castiel hasn’t been here long.  The alpha could be packing his bags right now.  Or he may have snuck out while Sam went off to get something to clean up the blood.  

Seeing the smear of red makes Dean’s breaths come quick and harsh, and he _needs_ to see the alpha.  Now.  

He jerks out of Sam’s grip and pounds up the stairs, ignoring his brother’s worried calls behind him.  He’s going to have a lot to explain, but it’s going to have to wait till later.  

It doesn’t take him long to find Castiel’s room.  There are only two in the house that Sam uses for long term tenants, and one of them is designated for Dean’s use although he’s pretty much moved in with Bobby at this point.  And even if Dean didn’t know the house’s layout, he’d be able to follow his nose.  Castiel’s rut hit him hard at the salvage yard, but it’s in full swing now and the whole hallway stinks with it.

Dean tries the doorknob, but it’s locked.  Ignoring Sam’s protests - Dean isn’t surprised he followed him upstairs - he pounds on the door with his fist, then tries the knob again even though he knows it’s a futile gesture.

“I’m sorry, I’m not ready for company.”

Dean sags against the door in relief when he hears Castiel’s raspy voice on the other side.  He knocks again, too hard probably.  He’s going to disturb the other guests if he’s not careful.  Licking his lips and looking up and down the hall, he checks for opening doors.  When no one comes out to glare at him for being a rude bastard, he clears his throat and tries to speak.  

A single word is all he can manage.  “Cas.”

Pressing an ear against the door and listening intently for movement, he ignores the sharp look Sam gives him.  His voice works for Sam, but only when Dean knows they’re alone.  He even has problems talking in front of Eileen, even though she can’t hear him.  So of course Sam would be shocked to hear him speak to a practical stranger.

Dean is still trying to process the fact that he can talk to Castiel too.  Sam can get in line if he wants answers.

There’s a shuffling noise, and then the muffled approach of footsteps.  Castiel’s scent thickens, and when he speaks Dean imagines him pressed up against the other side of the door because his voice sounds so close.  “Dean?”

“Cas,” Dean repeats on a relieved sigh.  His mouth works, and he tries to ask Castiel if he’s alright, but it seems that the words are stuck again.

“You should leave,” Castiel murmurs.  He speaks quietly, and Dean probably wouldn’t hear him if he didn’t have his ear pressed up against the wood.

“No.” Well not all the words are stuck apparently.

Sam is still looking at him like he’s grown a second head.  Maybe he has.  That might be where the words are coming from.

“Dean… please go away.” Castiel’s voice cracks, and Dean’s stomach twists with anxiety.  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 _*You won’t*_ Dean mouths.

He didn’t believe it half an hour ago.  But unlike Bobby, Dean can smell Castiel’s distress curling up from the gap under the door.  And he knows now, without any doubt, that Castiel is not like his brothers.

Something heavy inside Dean’s chest suddenly disappears.  The anger and mistrust that had been weighing him down since he’d discovered who Castiel is dissolves and all he can focus on is making sure Castiel is okay.  Dean just needs to check on him.  To make sure his injury is cleaned, and that he has sufficient water and snacks to get him through his rut.  

“Cas,” he says gruffly.  “Stay.”

He jerks away from the door and pushes past Sam to get to the only other door along this side of the hall.  His keys jingle when he pulls them from his pocket and slips one into the knob, unlocking his bedroom for the first time in several weeks.  It’s been long enough since his last stay that his own scent has faded, and is mostly overwhelmed by the cottony aroma of clean sheets.  

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam says from behind him.

“Make sure he doesn’t leave,” Dean says softly before slipping into his room and shutting the door behind himself.  He locks it behind him, and makes his way to the other door that leads to the bathroom his bedroom shares with Castiel’s.

Hopefully Castiel hasn’t thought to lock that one as well.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So NSFW.

“Cas… stay.”

The firm command sends a shiver down Castiel's spine.  He doesn't know if Dean wants him to stay right where he is or if his meaning is broader, a request not to leave town.  It's more likely the later, but in his hormonal state, Castiel’s hindbrain wants to obey the most literal interpretation.  His knees go weak and he leans more heavily against the door.  

Just the barest hint of Dean's buttery scent leaks through the barrier, and Castiel’s mouth drops open so he can pull it in over his tongue.  Saliva pools in his mouth, and he swallows before he starts drooling.

He hears a soft murmur of voices on the other side of the door, but he can't make out the words.  And then a loud crack of a palm against the wood, right where his ear is pressed, startles him.  He jerks his head away from the door and stares at it.

This time it's Sam's voice that comes through.  “If you hurt my brother in any way, I will destroy you.  No one will ever find the pieces of your corpse.  Do you hear me?”  

The menace in the other alpha's voice makes Castiel's hackles rise, and he bares his fangs at the challenge.  He doesn't get a chance to respond though.  His attention is captured instead by the rattle of the doorknob across the room.  He jerks his head around just in time to see it swing open.  A heartbeat before he sees Dean enter the room, he smells him.

Sweet buttery cakes, hints of maple.  Arousal.   _Heat._

Castiel takes two staggering steps toward the omega before he forces his limbs into immobility.  “Dean.  What are you-?  How-?”  He can't complete a thought because Dean's heat scent is overwhelming him and it's taking all his mental faculties to keep from leaping across the room and taking Dean on the floor.

This is new.  Dean hadn’t been in heat earlier.  His scent had been masked by the chemicals in the garage, and then Castiel only caught hints of it when the wind shifted in the right direction while he had been chasing the omega through the maze of junked cars.  He still smells slightly of the car grease that smudges his hands, but even still, his heat comes through strong and heady.

Dean stops just inside the room, his fist tight around the doorknob as if to anchor himself to the spot.  His chin lifts and his nostrils flare as he takes in Castiel's scent.  His green-gold eyes darken, and he stares at Castiel like he wants to eat him.

Castiel wants that too.  But he shakes himself, pure force of will the only thing keeping him from finishing what he started in the junkyard.  “Dean, you can't be here right now,” he grits from between clenched teeth.  “I'm in rut and you're in-” he can't say it.  Acknowledging Dean's heat out loud makes it real.  

Although he can smell Dean's slick, and he _knows_ that his denial is a flimsy barrier between his civil mind and his animal instincts.

“Heat,” Dean finishes for him.  His voice is a rough growl, and Castiel clenches his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to hang onto trailing ends of his self control.  Dean's voice comes closer when he continues.  “Your fault.”

Castiel's eyes snap open at that, and he finds Dean has shut the door behind him, locking them in together and he’s moved closer to the center of the room.  For a moment, horror clears the hormonal buzz in Castiel's brain.  “What are you doing?” He gasps.

Instead of answering with words, Dean slides his jacket off his shoulders, letting it drop in a heap at his feet.  Then his fingers tug at the rest of his clothing, removing the layers one at a time.  A wool sweater joins the jacket revealing a short sleeved t-shirt under a long sleeved t-shirt.  When he pulls them both over his head at the same time, Castiel can see that the armpits are soaked with sweat and he wants to bury his face in the cloth and breathe it in.

Dean drops the shirts to the floor with the rest, and Castiel finally loses control of his feet. They carry him forward one step, then another.  His eyes trace over the muscled curves and planes of Dean's torso.  His skin is soft gold sprinkled with freckles where it's exposed most often to the sun, and looks silky smooth.

He licks his lips, eager to see if all that skin tastes as delicious as it smells.  But he tries one more time to give Dean the opportunity to escape.  “You should leave, Dean.”

Dean pulls his plump bottom lip between his teeth and shakes his head.  His hands go to the fastening of his jeans, popping the button free and lowering the zipper with trembling fingers.

It's the sight of Dean's stiff cock peeking out from the waistband of Dean's underwear that snaps the last fine threads of Castiel's control.  He crosses the small space between them and slams into Dean, carrying him back several steps to press him bodily against the bathroom door.  He buries his nose against the soft skin just under Dean's ear, inhaling deeply.  The buttery sweet scent of his omega clouds Castiel’s mind and for a moment he can only huff sharply against Dean's neck while grinding his aching cock against Dean's hip.  

That is until strong fingers thread through his hair and jerk his head back.  He gets a brief glimpse of Dean's flushed cheeks and damp brow before the omega smashes their mouths together hard enough that their teeth clack, and there's a sharp pain when Castiel's lips are pinched too tightly between them.  It barely registers though because Dean _does_ taste as delicious as he smells.  

Dean’s breathing is coming hard and fast, puffing warm against Castiel’s cheeks, and he kisses like he’s starving for it.  He tilts his head so their mouths slot together more firmly and slides his tongue past Castiel’s lips.  Castiel opens to him, twining their tongues together.  In the meantime his fingers slide under the denim barrier of Dean’s pants and underwear.  He cups the meat of his ass cheeks and squeezes, relishing the way Dean’s moan seems to spill into him through their open mouths.  

He pulls the plump globes apart, then presses them together, then repeats the motion.  The massage makes Dean squirm between Castiel’s body and the door.  His breath hitches in his throat, and Castiel growls in response.

An answering rumble vibrates from Dean’s chest.  And then Castiel’s world is spinning because Dean has shoved him away.  Castiel almost pounces on him again, but then it registers that Dean isn’t shoving him _away,_ he’s just shoving him _toward the bed_.  And since that is where Castiel wants to be as well, he submits to the rough handling, stumbling backwards on legs gone rubbery with desire.  

The backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he plops down on it.  He tilts his head up so that he can watch Dean’s face as he approaches.  His eyes are dilated so widely that Castiel can’t tell if the ring of color around it is green or gold or some mixture of both.  His pink lips are swollen and damp and pulled back just enough that Castiel can see the tips of his fangs from this angle.  The flush riding high in his cheeks has spread down over his neck and chest, and his dusky nipples are tight and practically begging for the swipe of Castiel’s tongue.  

Dean has other plans though.  He drops down between Castiel’s knees, palming them with his large, grease stained hands, and pushes them apart to make room for himself.  He looks up at Castiel through his lashes as his hands swipe a slow, warm path down his calves.  His long fingers wrap around the back of Castiel’s ankles and then he’s using the grip to pull Castiel’s shoes off from the heel.  He makes quick work of his socks too.  And then Dean’s fingers wrap around the delicate arch of Castiel’s feet.

His touch is light enough that Castiel nearly jerks away when callused fingertips brush his arches, but Dean’s grip firms.  Pleasure rolls up from Castiel’s feet as Dean massages gently, first squeezing the arch, then working down to his toes.  He almost whimpers when the massage ends, but Dean’s strong touch only works its way back up his legs, fingers digging into the muscles of his calves, rubbing away tension.  

Despite how urgently he wants to pull Dean up on the bed and flip him face down, Castiel finds himself relaxing under the omega’s touch.  He’d thought Dean felt the same driving urge to get naked and fuck like animals, but he seems to be in no hurry to move things along.  He still stares up at Castiel, his eyes searching for something.  

Castiel wants to give him whatever reassurance he’s looking for, but words fail him.  All he can do is whimper when Dean’s hands slide from his knees up his thighs towards his crotch.  “Dean…”

“Shh…” Dean’s fingers slide up under the edge of Castiel’s shirt, avoiding his aching cock, and _finally_ start working at the fastening of his pants.  He doesn’t break eye contact with Castiel until he pulls the flaps of denim aside.  Then his gaze drops.

Castiel holds his breath, foolishly hoping that Dean likes what he sees.

Dean runs the tip of his index finger over the damp cloth covering the head of Castiel’s cock, making it twitch.  It takes everything in Castiel not to jump Dean right then and there.  The only thing holding him back is the instinct to care for and protect his omega.  To give him whatever he needs for his pleasure.  And if Dean wants to explore him like this, Castiel will let it go on as long as Dean wants it to.  Even if it takes hours.

Gods, he hopes it doesn’t take hours.

His patience is rewarded when Dean bends down and adds to the dampness of Castiel’s underwear by licking over it.  But Dean straightens almost immediately.  His eyes are hooded and unfocused, and he’s running his tongue over his lips like he just had a taste of something divine and he’s chasing every drop of flavor.  

A low vibrating sound fills the space between them.  Castiel’s eyes widen when he recognizes it.  Dean is _purring._  The volume rises and falls with each inhale and exhale, and Castiel can feel it where his thighs are resting against Dean’s sides.  

Afraid of breaking the spell, Castiel lifts his hands and carefully cups Dean’s face in his palms.  He tilts the omega’s face up, silently thrilled when there is no resistance.  “Dean?”

Green-gold eyes blink lazily, and focus on him.  The volume of his purring increases.

He hates himself for what he’s about to say, but he has to try one more time to make sure this is what Dean really wants and it isn’t just his heat forcing him into these actions.  “Do you want this?”

Dean nods, the movement restricted against Castiel’s palms.  

The answer punches a breath out of Castiel.  Apparently he’s fucking crazy though because he doesn’t stop talking.  “You were ready to fight me off earlier, Dean.  I don’t want you if you’re not one hundred percent sure.”

Dean’s voice is rough, broken by the purring.  “Want you, Cas.”

“Okay, but-”

He breaks off with a hiss when Dean turns enough to sink his teeth into the meat at the base of Castiel’s thumb.  The bite isn’t hard enough to break the skin, but the sting shocks Castiel’s system nonetheless.  Dean’s gaze sharpens, his irritation at Castiel’s persistence is clear.  But his purring doesn’t lessen in volume.  If anything, it becomes stronger.  After a second he releases Castiel’s hand and laps at the points where his teeth left indentations.

The driving urgency to fuck comes back when Castiel sees Dean’s pink, slick tongue flick out from between his lips.  A growl emanates from him, and he bends down to kiss Dean, using his grip on his face to hold him in place.  

Not that Dean is struggling against him.  No, he’s returning the kiss, sucking at Castiel’s lips between licks and nips.  He surges up, surprising Castiel into falling back against the bed.  It breaks the kiss for a moment, but Castiel can’t be too disappointed when Dean’s strong hands start stripping his pants and underwear off instead.  

He helps by kicking the denim away, and pulling his own shirts off over his head.  He tosses the wad of cloth behind Dean, and then starts pushing at the waistband of Dean’s pants.  With an alluring wiggle of his hips to help the progress along, Castiel is able to get them pushed down enough that Dean can step out of them.  At some point he must have toed off his shoes, and he reaches down to hook one finger under the edge of his sock, pulling it free quickly before divesting himself of the other as well.

Castiel only gets a quick glimpse of Dean’s dick before Dean is straddling his thighs and kissing him again.  With Castiel’s feet still on the floor it’s the perfect position to thrust his hips up against Dean’s.  They both groan when their dicks slide against each other’s bellies.  Castiel is already leaking precum, and something warm and slippery slides down Dean’s thighs, slicking them up where their skin is pressed together.  The hair of their thighs ruins the perfect slide of skin on skin, but Castiel shivers at the sensation.  

Dean’s body is large and hard and hot as the surface of the sun.  Curved over Castiel the way he is, he makes Castiel feel small in comparison.  It’s an odd feeling, but sexy as fuck.  No female could ever make him feel like he’s pinned to the mattress this way.  

Their bodies work in tandem, thrusting against each other.  It’s just enough friction that Castiel can feel a tingle around his knot, but not enough pressure to bring it out completely.  He whimpers into Dean’s mouth and thrusts harder, begging without words because Dean has taken full possession of his mouth, and he has no intention of freeing himself.

Luckily Dean seems to understand.  He braces himself with one hand next to Castiel’s head and reaches between them with the other.  He lines up their cocks and stretches his fingers wide to wrap around both of them, stroking them together.  After a few pumps of his fist, he makes a frustrated sound, and his hand disappears.  

Castiel’s fingers scrabble at Dean’s hips, his back, his arms.  Until he realizes that Dean is reaching further back, between his own legs.  Soon his hand is back, completely soaked with his own slick.  He rubs it over both of their dicks before taking them in hand again.  Castiel’s body immediately relaxes back into the mattress, only thrusting up on each downstroke of Dean’s fist.  It’s still not enough pressure, but it’s just right for now.  If his knot pops Dean will have to stop what he’s doing, and Castiel’s perfectly content with a handjob for now.

He lets himself get lost in the sensation of slick fingers and a hard dick.  The rumble of Dean’s purr soothes him, and the kiss slows down from something frantic and lust driven to something soft and gentle.  

The pleasure builds inside him, inexorable.  Every breath he takes is saturated with _Dean_.  And even though he’s reluctant to move past this, his body eventually reminds him that he needs to fuck.  Now.

Dean seems to sense the change, and he sits up on Castiel’s thighs, smearing them with fresh slick.  He meets Castiel’s gaze, then looks down to where their dicks are still gripped in his fist.  

Castiel’s eyes follow.  They’re similar in size, which his addled brain recognizes as rare since he’d always thought that omega males would be small.  But Dean is big all over, and he’s _proportional._ Still not as large as Castiel, and definitely not as thick.  But big enough that Castiel suddenly can’t decide if he wants to bury his knot inside Dean’s slick channel or roll over and present his own ass.

He moans at the thought and feels a warning throb at the base of his cock.  “Dean… I need to be inside you.  Please.”  The last is practically a whine, and at any other time he’d be embarrassed by his own neediness, but now he just _needs._

Dean licks his already damp lips and nods.  He shifts, but instead of straddling Castiel’s hips so he can lower himself on his cock, he leaves Castiel’s lap entirely.  

“What are you-?” Castiel sits up, hands reaching, but Dean nimbly dances out of his reach.

“Stay,” Dean grunts, pointing a stern finger at Castiel’s nose.  

Castiel wants to disobey when Dean strides to the bathroom and slips out of the room, but is unable to go against his omega’s wishes.

‘His’ omega?  Gods, his rut is hitting him hard this time.

He’s nearly shaking with the effort it takes to stay where he is by the time Dean returns.  A breath of relief whooshes out of him, and he almost collapses back on the bed.  But he can’t completely relax until Dean is back in his arms.

Dean flicks a finger at the bed in a silent command for Castiel to lie back.  Since Dean is also coming back to the bed, Castiel obeys eagerly this time.  He scrambles back until he’s fully stretched out on the mattress, but he stays propped up on his elbows so he can watch Dean’s approach.

The omega grins at him and holds up a dark purple box.  Written in large white lettering, Castiel can make out the words Trojan for Weres.  He blinks in surprise.  He’s nearly out of his mind with want, and he’d thought Dean was the same.  But Dean apparently has enough of his faculties left that he’s able to remember the importance of protection.

Any doubts that Dean wants this melt away.  If Dean can resist his hormones enough to _walk out of the room_ to fetch condoms, then he’s lucid enough to truly consent.  

Thank the gods.

Dean rips into the box, tears open one of the wrappers, and crawls onto the bed.  The light catches on the slick coating inside of his thighs when he moves, and Castiel groans at the sight.  He wants to taste Dean’s slick, but it’ll have to wait.  He’s too close to the edge already.  

His fingers clench the bedding as Dean straddles his thighs again.  He watches with keen attention as Dean rolls the condom down over his straining cock, making sure that it fits down over where his knot will swell up.  The pressure of the latex makes his hips twitch, and Dean grins.  Then he’s moving up and over Castiel’s body, guiding his cock into the the dripping heat of his ass.

Castiel briefly mourns the fact that he can’t experience this bare the first time, but with both of them in cycle it would be too high of a risk.  A pregnancy right now would be more than just an inconvenience.  The child’s life would be in danger if anyone found out it was his.  His heart twinges with sorrow for the theoretical unborn child, even as his body sings with pleasure when Dean seats himself fully on Castiel’s lap, tossing his head back and moaning when he’s filled completely.  

For the briefest moment Castiel pictures Dean’s belly distended, skin stretched tightly over their offspring.  It’s a beautiful image, but Castiel quickly pushes it away.  There will be no children for them.  He doubts there will even be more between them in the future other than this shared mating cycle.

And then Dean starts moving, and Castiel’s brain shuts down.  

The omega rolls his hips, grinding down as if he’s trying to take Castiel deeper even though he’s already sheathed to the hilt.  He leans back, bracing his palms on Castiel’s thighs which somehow _does_ bring him deeper.  His stomach muscles flex and undulate, and his cock bobs against his stomach, leaving smears of precum.  Castiel lets go of the quilt and grabs Dean’s thighs instead, hanging on for dear life.

His knot throbs once, twice, and then begins to swell.  It’s already inside Dean’s rim and it only takes moments before it’s enlarged enough that it would be highly uncomfortable for both of them if he tried to pull out.  Not impossible yet, but as soon as his orgasm hits him, they’ll be locked together.  

Not that he’s even considering pulling out.  He’s thrusting up into every downward roll of Dean’s hips.  The slick that is leaking out past Castiel’s growing knot leaves their skin wet enough to make some interesting squelching noises between their thighs.  Combined with Dean’s rumbling purr, and the harsh sawing of his own breath, it’s all music to Castiel’s ears.  

Dean shifts his weight to one hand and closes the other around his own dick, stroking quickly, out of time with the movements of their body.  He’s breathing so hard that his purring stops, but instead he’s whimpering and moaning.  Every sound that spills from his plump lips is more sexy than the last, and Castiel’s entire being is tuned into him, sight, sound, smell, touch.

They both gasp out when Dean moves and his rim tugs too strongly at Castiel’s knot.  Dean’s muscles clench down, and he lets out a filthy mewl just as semen spurts from the head of his dick, leaving streaks of white across his flexing belly muscles.

The pulse of Dean’s inner muscles as he comes is what finally brings Castiel to orgasm.  His knot swells to its fullest, and there’s just a brief sensation of balancing on the precipice before he’s falling over the edge.  His fingers dig tightly into Dean’s thighs, and he thrusts his hips up enough to lift the weight of both of them up off the mattress.  His back arches, and every muscle in his body locks tight as he pumps load after load into the condom.

On the fourth spasm of his balls against Dean’s ass, Castiel’s muscles finally loosen and his weight sinks back into the bed.  His vision narrows down to a dark tunnel, and he gasps desperately for air.  He struggles to focus, his eyes searching out Dean’s face in the dimness, and latching on once he finds it.

Dean leans forward and presses their foreheads together.  Their harsh breathing mingles, and the lack of oxygen actually works to calm Castiel’s over-worked heart.  This close he can’t actually see the details of Dean’s eyes, but he registers black and green-gold, and it’s beautiful.  Dean is beautiful.  The most beautiful thing - _omega -_ he’s ever seen.

He doesn’t realize he said those things out loud until Dean’s chuckle puffs air against his lips along with a murmured “Thanks, Cas.” Damp hands that smell strongly of Dean’s slick cup Castiel’s cheeks, the thumbs brushing back and forth over his cheekbones.

“Shh… relax…”

Feeling Dean’s lips move against his own fills Castiel with awe.  “You can talk.”

He feels stupid as soon as the words slip free.  Of course Dean can talk.  It’s not the first time Castiel has heard him speak, but he doesn’t understand why Dean uses sign language instead.

“Sometimes,” Dean murmurs.  He presses a kiss against Castiel’s lips.  It’s gentle and close-mouthed.  More just a brush of skin against skin with the slight cling caused by dampness.  “Shhh…” he soothes again.

Lethargy wraps thick tentacles around Castiel’s mind.  His body twitches feebly in protest, and the movement pulls a gasp and another orgasm out of him.  “Dean, I…”

“Sleep, alpha.” Unlike the first time Dean used the title, this time it’s an endearment instead of a curse.  Fingers drag through the hair at Castiel’s temples, relaxing him further.

With the last of his strength, Castiel lifts his hands and links them behind Dean’s back, hugging him tight enough with just the weight of his arms that there is no space left between their torsos.  He manages to form words with lips trembling with fatigue.  “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.” The word is distorted by Dean’s purring.

Satisfied that his omega is taken care of for the moment, Castiel lets his eyes slip closed.  Darkness wraps around him, and he sinks into a deep, satiated slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K, so I totally didn't think I'd be posting a chapter today. I just started writing it today! And I sat down this evening and said I was going to do a 1k1h word sprint and then set it aside so I could read some DCBB fic. But I guess I was on a roll because when I finally wound down, I realized I had a whole chapter. So... surprise? :D
> 
> No promises, but this may mean another chapter by the end of the week. *crosses fingers*


	10. Chapter 10

With the relaxation brought on by deep sleep, Castiel looks young, vulnerable.  Trusting.  Completely at peace, which is a good look for him.  He wonders how old Castiel is.  Probably not much older than himself.  The information is probably in Bobby's folder, but Dean didn't take time read all of it.

When Dean brushes the drying tufts of hair away from his brow, Castiel turns his face and nuzzles into Dean’s palm.  His chest rises on a long inhale, lifting Dean a few inches as he pulls in the scent of dried slick coating Dean’s hand.  When he exhales his breath is warm as it slips through Dean’s fingers and rumbles with the beginning of a purr.

Despite himself, Dean smiles.  His own purr is louder, filling the silence of the room.  And fuck him if he can turn it off.  He hasn’t purred with a lover in _years_ and here he is, buzzing like a chainsaw.  

Moving slowly so as not to disturb the sleeping alpha, Dean shifts his legs so they’re no longer bunched around Castiel’s hips.  His ass twinges a painful warning when the movement pulls at where they’re still joined, but he manages to mostly stretch out, his ankles tucked up close to Castiel’s shins.  He worries for a moment that he might be too heavy, but Castiel’s breathing doesn’t seem to change when Dean relaxes his arms and lets his weight settle fully.  He rests his cheek on Castiel’s shoulder and closes his eyes.  The position puts his nose right up against Castiel’s neck, and the woodsy apple barrel scent clouds Dean’s mind, lulling him into a half doze.  

About ten minutes later Castiel’s knot has gone down enough that Dean is able to pull free with a wiggle of his hips.  An uncomfortable rush of warm slick also slips free making him grimace.  At least the mess is alleviated by the condom, otherwise he'd be leaking even more.  Being an omega can be pretty gross during heat, but especially when it’s spent with an alpha.

And he’s definitely in heat again.  He’s heard of short cycles before, but this is ridiculous.  

It had hit him full force as soon as he’d walked from his bedroom into the bathroom.  The room was still steamy from a recent shower, and the damp air was thick with Castiel’s rut pheromones and the scent of sex.  One whiff of that and Dean’s skin had flashed cold, and then so hot he’s surprised his clothing didn’t spontaneously combust.  In seconds sweat was soaking through his shirts and the ass of his jeans was damp with slick.

He should have turned around and walked right back out.  He could have sent Sam in to check on Castiel instead.  Or even just have respected Castiel’s wishes and left him alone.

But his body and mind had disconnected, and he’d reached for that other door and walked through.  With his wet hair sticking out in all directions and his eyes wild, Castiel had looked like a cornered beast when he’d looked up at Dean.  The naked want in his eyes had set off warning bells in Dean's head, but Castiel kept control of himself, urging Dean to leave.

Weres aren't mindless beasts during their mating cycles, but Dean is still awed by Castiel's self control. Especially when Dean gave up clinging to his own and offered himself for the alpha's pleasure.  He's not entirely sure why he did that, but in the hazy afterglow of heat sex, he doesn't really want to think about it too hard.

If he does, he'll probably freak himself out.  And right now he just wants to bask in the calm before the next wave of their cycles hit.  

He'll have to get up and do something about the condom soon, before it becomes a messier problem.  And he needs to let Sam know he's okay, and ask him to bring some provisions up for him and Castiel to survive the next few days.

With a sigh, he nuzzles closer to Castiel.  The alpha's beard has grown enough that it's soft where it's pressed against Dean's face.  It tickles but not enough to disturb his comfort, and soon his half doze starts to teeter over into a full blown nap.  

He isn't sure how much time has passed when he becomes aware again, but he immediately knows what got his attention.  Castiel's hands are moving against his skin, leaving trails of heat in their wake as they brush over him.  The caresses are not sexual, and don't even seem exploratory in nature.  

Castiel's fingertips trace lines up Dean's spine, then etch circles over his shoulder blades.  He flattens his palms over the ball of Dean's shoulders and drags them down Dean's arms to his elbows before reversing direction.  He's _petting_ Dean, and the touch is tender, almost reverent, although that could just be Dean's imagination.

At some point, while he was sleeping Dean had stopped purring.  But the mini lawn mower in his chest sputters back to life as Castiel continues stroking him.

"Are you awake?"

Fuck, it should be illegal for someone to sound so sexy.  A flash of heat rises up under Dean's skin at the sound of Castiel's roughened murmur, a warning that he spent too much time napping, and he doesn't have long before he's going to be uncontrollably horny again.

At least this time he's not going through it alone.  It's easier with a partner, even if the clean up is more of a bitch.

"Dean?"

He's unsure if his voice is in the mood to cooperate, but he's certainly not in the mood to talk.  So he just nods in answer.  Castiel's beard tickles the tip of his nose, and he tilts his head enough to rub more firmly against it.  Yes he's basically nuzzling Castiel's jaw like a needy omega, but fuck it.  He feels good. Damn good. And he might kinda sorta like Castiel's peach fuzz.  So sue him.  His life has been rough and he deserves nice things.

The irony that those nice things are being provided by one of the Novak brothers doesn't escape him, but he very deliberately ignores it for now.  He'll unpack that tidbit of angst later when his inevitable freak out happens.  At the moment, he's going to allow himself to enjoy having a partner for his heat and take a mental vacation.

Sam would be so proud.  Probably.  Okay maybe not, given that Castiel is a Novak.  But that can be dealt with later too.

"We should probably clean up a little," Castiel says in that cat-tongue voice.

Fuck him for being right.  Dean grumbles wordlessly, but he puts effort into moving his limbs.  Arms first, so he can push himself up.  Their skin peels apart unpleasantly where it was practically glued together by their sweat, among _other_ things, and he wrinkles his nose.   _Gross._

Castiel chuckles at his expression, and his lips curve up in a crooked smile.  

Dean gives him a quelling look, but since he's not really irritated, it's tempered by a smirk of his own.  Wiggling his hips, he feels something slimy between their bodies, probably a mixture of his slick and the leaked contents of the condom.  He's rewarded for his actions when Castiel's smile fades into a grimace.

"Or maybe clean up a lot."

Snorting a triumphant laugh, Dean pushes himself up onto hands and knees.  His body aches just about everywhere, from exertion and heat fever, and his ass is reminding him that a fake knot is definitely _not_ a substitute for a real one.  But it’s all the pleasant kind of ache that comes from a good fuck.  The kind that will fade away into pleasure as soon as they start moving together again.

Just thinking of it sends blood rushing south, and he needs to get up and take care of the practical stuff _now_ or it might not get done at all.  With a huffing breath, he forces his muscles into action and crawls backwards off the bed.  Standing gives him a little bit of a head rush and he sways for a moment until it passes.  It’s a sign he needs calories.  He hasn’t eaten since lunch, and a glance at the window tells him it’s fully dark outside.  

First things first.  Clean up.  He smirks at Castiel’s disgusted expression as he carefully removes the condom.  When some of his semen leaks free the scent practically flicks Dean’s nose to get his attention, and he nearly drops to his knees to rub his face against Castiel’s crotch.  Luckily he’s not that far gone yet, because ew.  He prefers his facials fresh and warm, and preferably straight from the source.

He rolls his eyes at the thought and blames his heat.  

He’s about to turn and leave Castiel to clean himself up but his eyes zero in on Castiel’s left hand.  His own hand darts out and grab Castiel’s wrist, turning it palm up.  A long cut splits the uncallused skin.  It’s not bleeding anymore, and it looks like it’s been cleaned, but the skin around it is pinkening in a way that makes Dean’s inner mother hen cluck up a ruckus.  

“I should probably bandage that,” Castiel says roughly, making no move to pull away from Dean’s examination.  “It doesn’t really hurt, but it’ll be hard to keep clean.”

Dean tugs, and Castiel obeys the silent command, standing up and letting himself be led to the bathroom.  He drops the used condom in the waste basket next to the toilet, and waits patiently while Dean digs through the cabinet over the sink.  Dean releases him and gestures at the sink and shuffles over to give Castiel enough room to access it.

Again, Castiel interprets his wishes correctly and he turns on the tap and starts washing his hands.  “We should probably rinse off all over while we have a chance.”

After pulling out a tube of ointment and some large adhesive bandages, Dean reaches out to flick at Castiel’s hair.  It’s dry now, and it’s obvious he slept on it.  It’s smashed up near the back, and the rest sticks out in more directions than should be physically possible.

Castiel looks up, first at Dean and then to the mirror.  He chuckles again, and shakes his head along with his hands, flinging the water from his fingertips before grabbing a towel to dry them.  “It has a mind of its own if I don’t immediately comb it down after it’s washed.”

 _“You showered.”_ Dean signs before he remembers that Castiel doesn’t understand sign language.  

Castiel tilts his head, squinting in concentration.  He speaks hesitantly, as if he’s not sure he’s saying the right thing.  “Yes, I showered once already.”

Dean’s eyes go wide and he drops the supplies on the counter so both his hands are free.   _“You understand sign language?”_

The squint intensifies and Castiel makes the sign for _“slowly”_ , then says “I’m trying to ‘ _learn’_ , but I only know a few ‘ _words’_.” He layers some of his spoken words with slow and clumsy signs.  “Eileen has been giving me ‘ _lessons’_ in her free time.”

Tapping his index finger to the center of his chest, Dean lifts an eyebrow.   _“For me?”_

“I started thinking about it while I was still staying at Bobby’s house,” Castiel admits.  Rosiness blooms in his cheeks, and his eyes drop down to the sink.  He grabs the tube of ointment and starts unscrewing the cap.  “But I thought if I was staying here for a while it would make it easier to speak with Eileen… and you.”  He glances up through his lashes.  “Although you can talk.”

No he can’t.  Not most of the time.  It was easier when he was younger, before… _before_.  But his ability to speak only comes easy with Sam.  With everyone else it’s such a huge struggle that he doesn’t bother trying most of the time.  But he’s already spoken out loud with Castiel more than once, and that surprises the fuck out of him.  

“Sometimes,” he says out loud for the second time.  Hoping to end the subject, he reaches for the opened tube and takes Castiel’s hand in his own.  He keeps his eyes on what he’s doing as he smoothes ointment over it.  He doesn’t look up when he sets the tube aside and unwraps a bandage and covers the cut with it.  It’s not quite wide enough, so he applies a second bandage.  

When he finally looks up he freezes like a deer in the headlights.  Castiel is staring at him like he’s trying to read his mind, making his insides squirm uneasily.  But he can’t look away, and he doesn’t move.  

“Why don’t you talk, Dean?”

It’s such an innocent question.  Castiel isn’t even the first one to ask him.  He’s last in a long line, starting with John Winchester when he noticed Dean’s silence a few _months_ after Mary’s death.  Followed by a string of child psychologists until one of them told him he didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to and started teaching him ASL instead.  The question has evolved over the course of his life.  Instead of asking him why he _doesn’t_ talk, new acquaintances ask him why he _can’t_ talk.  Their eyes drop to his throat, searching for signs of injury.  As if only a scar would explain his silence.  

People constantly forget that sometimes all the scars are on the inside.  

He’s gotten good at brushing off the question with vague hints at a childhood illness.  People accept it without fuss and he can avoid awkward questions.  The pitying looks are obnoxious, but leaps and bounds better than questions.

For the first time, he answers the question.  His tongue feels like rubber, and his lips feel strange as they form the words.  “The Novaks took my voice.”

Castiel flinches back as if struck. “What?”

Dean opens his mouth to tell him.  About his mother and the years after her death where he’d had to take on her role while his father went a little crazy with grief and rage.  About the cages.  About singing to the alpha girl who shared her body heat with him on cold nights until she was taken away from him.  About screaming himself hoarse, until he’d damaged his throat so much that even if he wanted to, he couldn’t talk until it healed.  But the lump that bottlenecks everything in his throat swells up, threatening to choke him

It’s not real.  There’s no physical block.  But even though he can breathe it feels like someone has shoved a baseball down his windpipe, and it’s stuck there.  No matter how many shrinks have tried to talk him into _believing_ the damn thing away, he can’t get a word past it.  

His eyes prickle with the threat of tears, and he looks away, swallowing several times in an attempt to get the lump to go away.  But it only grows.

“Dean?”

Jerking away when Castiel reaches out to him, Dean shakes his head firmly.  He takes a step back, widening the space between them.  It feels like something inside him is stretching thin, near the breaking point, and the pain of it finally breaks the dam holding his tears at bay.  He feels one push over his lashes and slide down his cheek, leaving a cooling trail.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

After the softly spoken words, Castiel leaves the bathroom, taking half the heat with him and leaving Dean cold.  Goosebumps rise up in waves over his skin, and he rubs at the ones on his arms.  When he starts to shiver, he drags himself across the tiles to the shower, cranking the water on hot, but he doesn’t step under the spray.  

Instead he allows the tugging sensation in the center of his chest guide him.  While the bathroom fills with steam again, he goes to the door.  Castiel is sorting through the discarded clothing on the floor, and for a moment Dean lets himself admire the alpha’s naked form.  The guy is hot as fuck, and just looking at him stokes the fire that fuels Dean’s heat.  The deep chill inside him starts to thaw just by being in line of sight with Castiel, and he’s going to add that to his list of things to freak out about later.  

He watches as Castiel carries the pile of clothes over to the chest at the foot of the bed, and for the first time Dean notices the open duffel bag sitting on top of it.  It’s not neatly packed, unlike the last time Dean saw it.  Clothing is stuffed into it without any regards to wrinkles or order, and the sides bulge out so much that it probably won’t zip closed all the way.  It looks like it was packed in a hurry.

Even though the shower had been freshly used when Dean entered the bathroom, Castiel was fully dressed when he found him in the bedroom.  Despite his rut.  He was getting ready to leave, probably with the intention of stealing Bobby’s jeep.  Dean showed up just in time to prevent him from disappearing forever.  

The lump in his throat still feels completely unsurpassable, but Dean tries anyway.  He can only get out one syllable.  “Cas.”

Castiel straightens and looks at Dean, warily as if he expects punishment for existing.  

Maybe he deserves it.  He's rich and powerful and Dean doubts he's lived a pristinely innocent life.  Maybe in the past he was involved with Lucifer's cult, or Michael's child trafficking ring, but he got pissed at them for something and decided to drop the government on their heads in revenge.  It seems more likely than the idea that he grew a conscious and did the right thing.  But a man like that would be hard pressed to change everything about himself in a manner of days.  He wouldn't have been so careful to make sure Dean was on board with the sex, even though it's obvious Dean is in heat.

Plus - and this might just be the result of some gold medal winning mental gymnastics - Dean can't believe that he'd feel so much pull to an evil man.  The rock solid wall of suspicion he keeps between himself and just about everyone that isn't family trembles like it's made of straw when Castiel stands before it.  And Dean has the sinking feeling that Castiel wouldn't have to huff and puff to knock it down.  

Dean's got his hand on the door latch, ready to throw it open to invite the wolf in.

He signs _"shower"_ and hooks a thumb over his shoulder toward the sound of running water.   _*join me*_

Castiel's broad shoulders hunch in slightly, and his eyes dart around, his whole demeanor one of a hunted man.  "You go ahead.  I'll shower after you're finished."

It's horse shit, and they both know it.  Dean’ll find the bedroom empty when he returns to it.  He can't let that happen.  Silverton is the safest place for Castiel, but Dean can't explain that to him right now.  He's having good luck with his voice today, but he can feel it wriggling away from his control, and Castiel doesn’t know enough to understand if Dean signs it.  

Remembering Bobby's suggestion to use himself as a reason to make Castiel say makes his stomach twist, but it's his best option at the moment.  He crosses the room, slowly so as not to spook the wary alpha, not stopping until he stands close enough that Castiel should be able to feel the heat pouring from Dean's body.  

The act of walking makes fresh slick leak between Dean's thighs, and from this close he can see the minute twitches of Castiel's expression when he catches the scent.  His nostrils flare and his pupils spring wide.  Outside of rut he doesn't show a speck of alpha red in his lake-blue irises, but there's a hint of purple in the thin band of color now.

Reaching up, Dean cups a palm over Castiel's nape and exerts pressure until their chests bump together and they're sharing the same pheromone drenched air.  The alpha doesn't resist, sinking against Dean's body with a huffing noise that sounds half annoyance, half surrender.  His eyes finally land on Dean's, going wide with something that makes Dean even hotter under his skin, if that's even possible.

"Cas."  He likes the shape of that single syllable in his mouth, the sharp hit of the C at the back is his throat, and the rest a simple sigh and a light tap of his tongue against the inside of his teeth.  He says it again, just because he can.  "Cas."

He wants to tell him to stay.  To ask him to come into the shower, but apparently his voice has shut up shop and taken off for the day.  He compensates with actions instead, closing the last few inches between them, tilting his head down to capture Castiel's lips with his own.  They tremble for a brief moment before relaxing and moving under Dean's.  

The kiss is mostly chaste, and far too tender.  It makes Dean's insides quake with fear that this might be more than heat sex between two consenting adults in cycle.  He reaches deep inside, gathering up the fluttering emotion and bundling it away in a dark corner where it can gather dust and cobwebs while he ignores it.  

When he lifts his head, Castiel’s eyes are glazed over.  The alpha’s dick is a solid brand against Dean’s hip, and Dean’s own erection is nestled in the springy hair at Castiel’s groin.  Dean works his free hand between their bodies and cups Castiel’s dick, massaging over the slightly swollen area where his knot will form.  Then he takes a step back, and another.  Another.  He grins at the spark of awareness in Castiel’s eyes when the alpha notices he’s being led to the shower by his cock.  He makes no protest though, only huffing a small laugh and moving with less reluctance.

There’s a joke in there somewhere about stereotypical alphas, leashes, and possibly ‘good boys’, but Dean doesn’t trust his ability to say anything so he doesn’t chase the thought.  

The water is still piping hot when Dean and Castiel step into the tub together, and Dean thinks it’s a good thing that this place has an industrial sized water heater.  Together they wash each other with gentle hands, sluicing away sweat, semen, and slick.  The steam soaks up their pheromones, mingling the scents of apples and butter, making everything smell vaguely like Eileen’s kitchen when she’s baking holiday pies.  

If the kitchen also smelled like sex.

Which, ew.  He’s walked in on Sam and Eileen in some compromising positions over the years, and he does _not_ want to think about it.  So he doesn’t.  Thank you very much.

Besides, it’s much more pleasant to lose himself in the gentle touches and exploring kisses.  They weren’t exactly frantic the first time they had sex, but this is a whole new level of intimacy, which Dean _also_ doesn’t want to think about.  But the nice thing about sex is that thinking isn’t really required.

The condoms are in the other room, so Castiel makes no move to fuck him.  Instead he kneels at Dean’s feet and practically worships his dick with mouth and hands.  And he doesn’t hurry it along, holding Dean on the edge for what seems like an eternity before he finally slips two fingers deep between Dean’s slick-soaked hole while deep throating him as well.  Dean would be impressed with his lack of a gag reflex if he had two unfried brain cells to rub together while it happened.  

When he catches his breath and regains a tiny sliver of his sanity, Dean returns the favor.  Blowing a male alpha is not exactly easy for anyone who can’t unhinge their jaw, but Dean makes up for the lack with both hands, and a helluva lot of enthusiasm.  Castiel tastes both sweet and tangy, and when his knot throbs between Dean’s palms with the first wave of his orgasm, Dean’s eyes nearly roll back in his head at the musky flavor that fills his mouth.  He swallows down as much as he can before he has to pull away, and the rest splashes in hot stripes over his cheeks, lips, and chin before the shower spray rinses most of it away.

Castiel cups Dean’s jaw in his unbandaged hand and rubs the pad of his thumb across his cheek.  His gaze is heavy with tender gratitude.

Despite the water heater’s best efforts, the water eventually cools and they help each other out of the shower.  They dry each other with fresh towels from the pantry under the sink, and stumble with rubbery legs back into the bedroom.  Dean retrieves his phone from his pile of clothing on the floor while Castiel crosses the room in the direction of the bed.  They both need food because their cycles are going to ramp up pretty quickly and calorie intake is going be important for the next twenty-four hours, so he pulls up the message app and taps his last conversation with Sam.

The thread has several new messages with varying levels of worry and irritation because Dean wasn’t responding.  Ignoring Sam’s demands that he get the hell out of there, Dean types out a message asking his brother to bring some food up.  Sam’s response is clipped, but he agrees.  He’s smart enough to know that it’s too late to talk Dean out of spending the next day of his cycle with Castiel, but Dean knows he’s going to get the lecture from hell after this is all over.

He tosses the phone on the dresser where he’ll hear it buzz if he gets any new messages.  Then he joins Castiel where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.  Castiel goes stiff for a moment before he leans into Dean.  He’s looking out the open window, so Dean does as well, since talking isn’t really on the table at the moment.

Through the parted curtains he can see the yard is completely blanketed in snow.  It’s late enough that it should be pitch black out there, but the snow has paused and the moon - so close to full that only the calendar would tell him that it isn’t - shines down on the pristine field of white.  

“I always cycle with the full moon,” Castiel murmurs after a long minute of comfortable silence.  

Dean blinks and turns to look at the alpha’s profile.  He makes a questioning sound in the back of his throat. _*really?*_

Castiel nods.  “Lucifer used to tell me that having a moon-synced cycle made me one of ‘Fenrir’s Chosen’.”  He lifts his hands enough to make air quotes, and his voice drips with sarcasm.  He turns dark eyes to Dean, and his mouth twists with bitterness.  “I’ve always thought his beliefs are ridiculous.  We’re ‘children of the wolves’?” Again with the air quotes, which is actually kind of cute. “I tried pointing out once that our behaviors are more cat-like than wolf-like.  We _purr_ for fuck’s sake.  He went into a rage, and I wonder sometimes if Gabriel hadn’t stepped in to smooth things over if Lucifer would have become violent.  I could smell it on him.”

A snarl twists Dean’s lips, and he growls a warning for a man that isn’t even present to appreciate it.

But Castiel does.  His lips curve up, and his eyes crinkle.  And Dean tries not to think words like “boyish” in the face of that grin.  “He barely acknowledged me after that.  Which was truly a relief.  He disappeared about a year later to start gathering followers.” Castiel’s expression falls, and he looks back out the window.  The light is starting to fade as clouds blow back over the moon.  

A thick acrid smokiness begins to overpower the woody tones of his scent, and Dean thinks he understands Castiel’s unspoken sorrow for Lucifer’s actions after he left.  He bumps his shoulder against Castiel’s, and when the alpha looks back at him, Dean opens his mouth and is pleased when his voice works.  “Not your fault.”

He believes all three words.  Some Weres can exert some control over their pheromones enough to suppress them, but they can’t _change_ them.  And right now Castiel’s scent is screaming with a combination of emotions from regret to anger to outrage.  It’s one big cloud of truth that Dean can’t ignore.

Instead of taking comfort from the words though, Castiel’s scent sours even further and his brows come together in a glare.  “But I’m a Novak.”

Not in the ways that matter, Dean thinks, and he’s not looking forward to Bobby’s I Told You So speech about it later.  He reaches out and grabs Castiel’s hand from his lap.  It’s the one with the bandage, which is damp now from their shower and should probably be replaced soon.  He doesn’t squeeze it, not wanting to aggravate the injury.  But he brings it to his own lap, and twines their fingers together.  “Steve Castle,” he says simply.

The sharp edge of Castiel’s upset fades from his scent and he snorts a genuine laugh.  “I suppose you’re right.  Although I’m having trouble remembering to answer to ‘Steve’.”

Dean bumps their shoulders together again.  “Cas.”

The woody warmth comes back to Castiel’s scent, and he smiles again.  There’s still sorrow and pain seeping from his pores, but it’s fading quickly.  “I guess I could ask everyone to use that nickname instead.” He flexes his fingers against Dean’s.  “I like it when you call me that.”

The moment is broken when there’s a knock.  Castiel looks at the door, mildly startled, but Dean just gets up and goes to answer it.

Sam’s look of horror when he sees that Dean is buck-assed naked is going to be added to his all time favorite moments list.  He takes the tray full of sandwiches and pastries Sam thrusts at him with whispered “thanks, Sammy,” and closes the door in his brother’s face.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try and get one more chapter posted next week, but no promises. Next Thursday I'm traveling to Atlanta to visit JupiterJames and go to the SPN convention, and I'm probably not going to get much writing done during that time or for a week or so afterwards :)


	11. Chapter 11

The room is dark other than the threads of moonlight spilling in from the window.  Dean can’t see it from this angle, but it’s still nearly full and without any clouds blanketing the sky now that the storm has passed through, it shines on the snow and lights the room up almost as bright as daylight to his Were eyes.  The only sounds breaking the silence are the hum of the heater vents kicking on to chase away the chill and Castiel's even breathing against Dean's shoulder.  Dean is grateful for both because his heat broke a few hours earlier and the lack of fever left him shivering until Castiel pulled the blankets around them and plastered himself to Dean's side.  The alpha's body is a furnace despite the fact that his rut had dissipated a few hours before Dean's heat.

Castiel had used the last of his strength and the last condom to fuck Dean through his final feverish peak.  It had been slow and gentle because neither of them had energy for much more than that after nearly two days of marathon sex, and the memory of it keeps running on repeat through his mind.  

Dean doesn't always spend his heats alone.  He's shared them with friends and even a few people he's been in serious relationships with.  But he's never experienced the level of intimacy with any of them that he'd had with Castiel during that last session.  

They hadn't even been face to face, for fucks sake.  Dean's hips were aching from being spread around Castiel's body, and Cas had gently coaxed him onto his belly before draping himself over Dean's back.  Dean's ass was already slick and open, and Castiel had slid inside him with little more than a nudge.  The alpha's weight pressed Dean deep into the mattress, and he'd wriggled his hands up under Dean's armpits and around his shoulders so he could get leverage to fuck deep enough to sate Dean's burning body.  He'd buried his face in the hollow of Dean's neck and nibbled at the skin there.  

When Cas knotted him and an orgasm finally steamrolled through him, Dean almost asked him to bite.  He'd mouthed the words into the rumpled and stained sheets, but he'd been too breathless to give them sound.  

Which is why he's awake now instead of dead to the world like Castiel.

What. The. Fuck.

He's fully supportive of anyone who chooses to mate with a blood bond, but it's something he's never considered for himself.  Not since his first time with - he cuts that memory off quickly.  His scent always changes when he thinks of her, and he doesn't want to disturb Castiel.  But the point is that he doesn't fantasize about the blood bond like most Weres do.  It's irreversible, and meant for True Mates, which is something Dean doesn't believe in any more than he believes that Weres used to be able to shapeshift.

But blood bonding has real, scientifically proven effects on a Were's physiology though.  Whether he believes in True Mates or not, he'd be tied to Castiel for the rest of their lives.

Turning his head, he looks at the sleeping alpha.  Only part of Castiel's face is visible above the curve of Dean's shoulder.  In the dark, Dean can still make out the curl of dark hair behind his earlobe, and the darker shadow of his eyelashes against his cheek.  He wants to roll onto his side so they're face to face, sharing the same air, but instead he rolls the other way.  

Carefully extracting himself from Castiel's grasp, Dean swings his legs over the edge of the bed and sits up, letting the blanket fall away from his body.  He misses the heat almost immediately.  He muffles a groan when tired muscles protest the movement.  It's nothing compared to the ache in his ass though.  Castiel's knot is more substantial than the fake one Dean usually spends his heats with, and he can feel the affect it’s had on his body.

It's kinda awesome, actually.  If he hadn't just ended his - second! holy shit! - heat then he might actually be aroused by the feeling.  But he's not sure he could get it up right now to save his soul.

A warm hand on his lower back startles him and he twitches under the touch.  “Dean?  Are you alright?”

Fuckin’ peachy.  He’s so tired that his face aches, but his brain won’t shut the fuck up and let him get some rest.  He’d napped off and on in between sex and meals, but as soon as his heat wore off, he’s been unable to shut off his thoughts.

The bed shifts behind him, and then Castiel is at his back, knees bracketing Dean’s hips.  Castiel’s palms are hot as they slide over Dean’s ribs, up his sides, and then up to his shoulders.  He groans when strong fingers sink into the muscles around his neck and he drops his head forward to give Castiel room to work.

“Are you still sore?” Castiel’s breath against Dean’s nape makes him shiver, and Castiel scoots closer until his chest presses against Dean’s spine.

The muscles in his neck are relaxing, so his head feels too heavy to lift.  But even if his voice works most of the time when he tries to use it for Castiel, he doesn’t feel like speaking, so he forces himself to nod.  Gods, Castiel’s hands feel good.  Dean wants to melt back into the bed.  He lets himself sink back against the alpha’s body instead, and actually that’s much more comfortable than the mattress.

Castiel continues the gentle massage, eventually moving from Dean's shoulders to his arms, leaving the muscles feeling like jelly.  When Castiel whispers a request, Dean allows himself to be coaxed back onto the mattress, stretching out sore muscles and relaxing under the alpha's ministrations.  He groans into sheets that smell like both of them and feels a flash of guilt for enjoying himself so much, but it fades along with conscious thought.  The groan melds into a content purr.

Strong hands continue to knead his muscles down his back, over his butt and thighs, then his calves and his feet.  His body is too mushy and unresponsive to startle when he feels soft lips press against the arch of one foot.  He's not even sure it's real until Castiel drops another kiss on his calf, then his thigh.  He leaves a tingling trail of soft kisses, following the line of Dean's body with his mouth, until he places the last one on the knob of Dean's shoulder.  He settles down next to Dean, pulling the blanket over both of them and draping an arm and a leg over Dean's body.

Dean's mind still rebels against sleep even though he can feel it hovering around the edges of his awareness.  With monumental effort he turns his head on the mattress so he's facing Castiel.  There's enough moonlight that Dean can make out the blue of his eyes, staring back at him with heavy lids.

"Cas," Dean whispers.  "Stay."

Castiel blinks, lazy as a big cat.  "I'm not going anywhere."

Not at the moment, but Dean needs to make sure Castiel understands.  "Don't leave Silverton.  It's safe here."

Castiel's gaze sharpens.  "What?"

Dean's body feels weighted down with a pile of rocks, but he wiggles and shifts until he's laying on his side, facing Castiel.  Their legs tangle together as if it's the most natural thing in the world.  As if they are long time lovers instead of two people who barely know each other sharing a cycle.  Maybe if he wasn't so drained, both physically and mentally, Dean might freak out about that, but at the moment it feels right.

"We can protect you," Dean murmurs.  "Stay."

"Dean..."

Kissing Castiel to silence his protest feels just as natural as cuddling.  Eventually they lapse into just breathing each other’s air, and _finally_ Dean falls asleep.  

It only lasts a few hours, but he feels mostly rested when he wakes up again to the growing light of dawn.  He’d really like to laze about in bed, but his bladder is sending up an alarm, and the bed is already gross enough, so he can’t ignore it.  

Castiel tightens his grip when Dean tries to wiggle free of his arms, but whispered assurances that he’s just going to the bathroom is enough to get him to quit the octopus act.  He snuffles into Dean’s pillow and goes back to sleep.  If he was ever really awake in the first place.

Alphas should not be that cute, Dean thinks to himself with a smile as he swings his legs out of bed.  Moving is much easier, probably thanks to Castiel’s magic fingers a few hours earlier.  He hardly feels a muscle twinge on his way to the bathroom.

He relieves himself and then heads back into Castiel’s room.  In the dim light, he can see something blinking on the floor and when he bends down to see what it is, he realizes it’s his phone, shining just bright enough to be seen through the cloth of his jeans.  When he pulls it out of the pocket, he sees the battery is almost dead.  Frankly, he’s surprised it lasted so long, but the little red battery symbol is blinking red, which means it’s probably only got minutes left.

The notification bar is full of message indicators.  Email, missed calls, voicemail, text messages.  Curious to see who would be so eager to reach him, since usually only Sam texts him on a regular basis, he opens the messaging app.  

He’s got several messages from Garth.  All completely cheerful, and chock-full of emojis.  He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that they’re all status updates letting him know that Garth has been checking up on Bobby and making sure he eats while Dean is gone for his heat.  Bobby absolutely hates that they keep taking care of him, but they both ignore his bitching and keep doing it.

Dean would love to crawl right back into bed with Castiel, but he needs to get back to Bobby’s place so Garth can get back to taking care of Bess.  She needs her husband around now that she’s getting closer to her due date, and Dean feels guilty for being the reason Garth hasn’t been home as much.

With a sigh, he bends down and starts picking up his clothes.  He’s gross, and he needs a shower, but the noise might disturb Castiel.  He’d gotten just as little sleep as Dean over the last couple days, and Dean’s going to let him get as much as he needs now.  

Once he’s dressed, Dean pads barefoot to the bed and brushes Castiel’s hair back from his forehead.  He smiles when Castiel makes a small, pleased noise.

He doesn’t want to think about why that noise calls out to Dean to echo it.  He also doesn’t want to think about why he hates the idea of leaving Castiel.  He can’t even wake him up to say goodbye because if Castiel protests his leaving, Dean knows he’ll cave and burrow back under the covers and not leave until Sam has to pry him off the mattress with a crowbar.  

Pretending it doesn’t hurt to walk away, Dean leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to Castiel’s temple and then leaves the room on silent feet.  He shuts the door carefully, with just the slightest hint of a click when the latch catches.

And then he nearly has a heart attack when he turns around to find Sam waiting for him.

“Christ,” Dean hisses, pressing a hand over his beating heart and glaring at his little brother as he unfolds himself from his position on the floor.  “Have you been there all night?”

“Not all night, but you know I’m a morning person.” Sam dusts his palms over his ass, as if there would ever be a speck of dirt on Eileen’s carpets.  

“So you decided to stand guard outside our room?”  Dean bends down and pulls on one boot, and then the other, not bothering to tie them.  He just tucks the laces into the tops so he won’t trip on them.

Sam lifts an eyebrow at Dean’s phrasing.  “So you’re planning on sharing a room now?”

Dean huffs.  “No!” When the protest echoes down the hallway, he lowers his voice and continues in a whisper.  “It was just a cycle thing.  We’re not mates or anything.”

This time both Sam’s eyebrows disappear under the fringe of his hair.  “Who said anything about mating?”

Nobody.  And Dean wishes he could kick himself right now.  He turns abruptly and starts stalking down the hall towards the stairs, acutely aware of the giant shadow of his brother on his heels.  

“Dean, wait.”

“Can’t, I gotta get back to Bobby’s.”

“Dean.”

“Sam.”

His brother grabs him and stops him on the stairs.  “Look, if you don’t want to talk, that’s cool,” Sam says quickly, most likely aware that he can’t hold Dean long if he doesn’t want to be stopped.  “I just want to make sure you’re okay.  I know Bobby’s plan to keep Castiel here by seducing him made you uncomfortable.”

Dean blinks.  That isn’t what happened at all.  Yeah, he thought about it for like a half-second when Castiel looked like he was going to bolt- and okay maybe he used sex _a little bit_ to keep Castiel around, but it was only until he could explain that Silverton is a safe place for him.  The rest of it though… that was purely-

He cuts that thought off.  No need to go there.  They spent their cycle together, and Dean’s no longer mad at Castiel for being a Novak, and Castiel’s going to stay in Silverton, and they’re going to be friends.  Maybe they’ll spend another cycle or two together, but if not, no big deal.  

Okay maybe it’s a huge deal.

He’ll deal with it later.

Right now he’s got a moose-sized little brother looking at him like he’s a fragile princess that needs to be bundled up in a tower and protected from the world.  Dean’s not okay with that.

“I’m fine, Sammy.  Relax.”  He jerks his arm away and clomps down the stairs, no longer worried about the sound he’s making.  The walls in this place are thick.

“Okay, but if you need to talk-”

Dean snorts, and responds to his brother’s offer by lifting a hand over his shoulder and flipping him off.

“I mean it, Dean.”

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, Dean spins around.  The sudden movement startles Sam and he nearly stumbles onto Dean, catching himself on the banister at the last second.  Dean has to look way up at him since he’s a tall fucker, and the step gives him even more height, but never let it be said that Dean needs to physically dominate someone to make sure they heed his words.  He narrows his eyes at his brother.

“I’m fine, Sam.  We had heat sex, it was great fun, but now I need to get back to work.”

Sam doesn’t look like he wants to let go of the bone he’s gnawing on, but he sighs and allows Dean to deflect.  “Fine, I guess.  Is he staying?”

Dean opens his mouth to answer, but movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention.  Apparently some of Sam’s other guests are early risers as well, and they’re in the entertainment room watching the morning news on mute.  Just knowing they might have heard his voice makes his stomach knot up, and the fucking lump swells back up in his throat.  Irritation makes his gestures jerky when he signs.

_“Yes, he’s staying.  He’ll probably sleep in late though.  Make sure he eats when he gets up, okay?  He’ll probably be starving.”_

Sam just blinks at him for a moment.  But finally his head bobs in a slow nod of agreement.  “Okay.”

 _“He likes Eileen’s roast beef,”_ Dean signs, and then wonders why the fuck he’s saying this.   _“And pickles.”_ He’d happily eaten the ones from Dean’s sandwiches.  Sam must have made them.  He always forgets Dean doesn’t like pickles on his sandwiches.  

 _“I gotta go,”_ he signs abruptly, even as he turns away.  He waves over his shoulder on his way out the door.  

When he gets in the Impala and starts her up he cranks up the radio and tries to drown out the voice in his head muttering obscenities at him for leaving his mate behind.  Because Castiel is _not_ his mate.  Dean doesn’t believe in that shit.

He doesn’t.

Really.

Xxxx

Sharp sunlight cuts through Castiel's closed eyelids, and he flinches away before he peeks one eye open.  The curtains are still pulled away from the windows which hasn't been an issue while the storm lingered.  But apparently the last of it has retreated over the mountain peaks, leaving the morning almost too cheerfully bright.  Especially with the light reflecting off the thick layer of snow covering everything.

He rolls toward the edge of the bed, wincing as overworked muscles protest.  He's in fairly good shape though so he doesn't even wobble when he stands up to close the curtains.  They're not thick enough to block all the light, but the room is plunged into a green tinged twilight which doesn't make his eyes ache with strain.

He rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes until he sees starbursts behind the lids.  Then he stretches both arms above his head, groaning when he feels several satisfying pops along his spine.  A yawn also cracks his jaw, and he lets it run its course before he drops his arms and turns back to the bed.

He goes still when he sees that the rumpled bed is empty.  His eyes dart up and around the room, but there's no sign of Dean, and no sounds coming from the bathroom.  Even still, his feet carry him across the room, but his suspicions are confirmed when he opens the door to find it empty.  Dean's scent lingers, but it's faded.  As if he's been gone for a few hours.

His eyes land on the door on the other side of the bathroom.  He's never seen what's on the other side, but in one of the quiet moments during their cycles, when they were awake enough to talk, and Dean didn't appear to be struggling to communicate out loud, Dean had admitted that it was his bedroom.  It stands empty most of the month since Dean had moved in with Bobby a few years before, but he comes back for occasional visits and to go through his heats.

The door is unlocked when Castiel tries it, but he hesitates before pushing it open.  Dean has never invited him inside, and he may consider Castiel's intrusion an unforgivable breach of his privacy.  He knocks, calling Dean's name, but when there is no answer he takes a deep breath and opens it.

The room beyond is dark and empty.  The bed is neatly made with a maroon quilt, and a huge pile of pillows against the headboard.  The walls are lined with shelves filled with books, nicknacks, DVDs, and framed pictures.  On one side a flat screen TV hangs from the wall above the dresser where a boxy shape that Castiel suspects is either a gaming system or a DVD player glows with a single red light.  

Only the barest hint of Dean's scent lingers.  It's fresh, but so thin that he probably didn't linger long when he passed through.

Pain blossoms in Castiel's chest and he knuckles his sternum.  Dean is gone.

Despite his curiosity about Dean's personal space, Castiel closes door.  He won't invade Dean's privacy more than he already has.  

His feet drag as he makes his way back to his own room.  Despondent and lonely, he looks around.  Dean's clothes have disappeared from the floor where they spent the last two days tangled with his own.  It makes the room seem empty.

Or maybe it's just that Castiel _feels_ empty.  

Sometime during their cycle, Castiel began to think they were becoming close.  Friends at the very least, although Castiel knows from the growing ache at his core because of Dean’s absence that it’s definitely more than that for him.  He sinks down on the edge of the bed and drops his face in his hands.  

The last few days had been beautiful.  Dean was energetic and attentive in his approach to sex.  He could go from sensual and intense to laughing and teasing.  In between sex and naps he was cuddly and affectionate, constantly grooming Castiel’s hair and beard by brushing them with his fingers.  Despite his own heat, he’d made sure that Castiel was eating and staying hydrated. He’d challenged Castiel when he’d been too tired to get up and shower, making ridiculous faces to express without words how much Castiel stank until he’d finally allowed himself to be pulled out of the bed.  He’d hummed rock songs while Castiel dozed.

He’d been gorgeous when they made love.  Maybe that isn’t a term he should use for what they did, but that’s what it had felt like to Castiel.  Dean had been pliant and open for Castiel.  Rolling onto his hands and knees and presenting when he wanted to tease.  Wrestling Castiel onto his back and riding him till they were both breathless and exhausted when he wanted to take charge.  He’d let Castiel shower him with affection, purring roughly while being kissed and petted while their bodies were tied together.  

Gods, that purr.  It was a low rumble, like an old fashioned muscle car’s engine.  Just the memory of it sends a wave of goosebumps over his body.

Because of Castiel’s preference for men, he’s mostly slept with beta males, who can purr but never have when they’ve slept with him, or human males who don’t have the physical capability.  He’s been with a few alpha males as well, but the sex has always been aggressive, and his partners were more likely to growl than to purr.  He’s heard females purr, and it’s a beautiful sound, light and airy, but it never made his blood run hot and pool in his groin the way Dean’s does.

He wonders if he’ll ever have the chance to hear Dean’s purr again.  It would be absurd to think that just because they spent their cycle together that they’d still have some kind of physical relationship afterwards.  It’s common to spend rut or heat with someone and then never be more than acquaintances afterwards.

He'd fallen asleep last night with Dean's purr loud against his ear and vibrating through his body where they were pressed together.  And he wishes with everything in him that he didn't know what that feels like so he wouldn't have the memory to torment him on lonely nights.

Or lonely mornings after the most amazing rut cycle he's ever experienced.

His whole body deflates with his sigh.  It's tempting to go back to sleep, but the bed is soaked with sweat, slick, and semen and the combination of both their scents together gives him an overwhelming sense of homesickness even though he really doesn’t have anywhere to call home.  And he needs to wash Dean's scent off his skin before he sinks to deep into depression.  So he pushes back to his feet and goes to the window to open it wide.  He immediately shivers when frigid air washes over him, but he breathes in the clean, crisp scent of snow and pines.  His spirits lift slightly, and even though the ache in his chest is as strong as ever, he thinks he'll be able to survive the day.

He gathers clean clothing from his packed duffle and takes it into the bathroom with him.  His shower is quick and perfunctory and he dresses before he goes back into his room since he left the window open.  The cold air is a slap in the face, but he welcomes the discomfort.

Part of him wants to go find Dean, to demand to know if he feels the same profound bond between them that Castiel does.  Maybe if he confronts Dean outside the scent-soaked room, without wild hormones driving either of their actions, he’ll learn that it was all just a rut induced fantasy.  Dean’s eyes will be less green, his freckles not as pronounced.  The omega will not seem so large, his body less muscled.  The glow that surrounds him in Castiel’s imagination will fade away, and so will the ache of longing in his chest.

Or maybe he should just finish packing and leave Silverton behind, like he’d already planned on doing when he was ambushed by Dean at the beginning of his rut.  He feels guilty for considering abandoning his job at Nora’s store.  She’s been kind to him, accepting him despite his shady background.  She doesn’t deserve to be left wondering tomorrow whether he’s coming in, and eventually figuring out that she’ll have to run things on her own again.  Would she call Eileen to check on him?  To make sure he’s not still down because of his rut?  

He’d miss Eileen, and her lessons.  In just a few days he’s started to consider her a friend.  And if he leaves Silverton, he’ll be leaving her behind as well.  He wouldn’t be able to keep in touch with her.  If he continues learning ASL, he won’t be able to practice with her, or show her his progress.

Sam probably won’t miss him.  Not if his warning about Dean is anything to go on.  Especially since leaving Silverton is sure to hurt Dean.  

Because Dean asked him to stay.

He’d said it’s to keep Castiel safe.  Which doesn’t make a lot of sense, but he’d been so adamant…

Castiel stands in the center of the room and looks around, unsure what to do with himself.  His thoughts swirl around, each fragment like a leaf tumbling in the autumn wind.  So he’s almost grateful when the constant buzz of his mind is interrupted by a knock on the door.

The ache under his sternum disappears, replaced with burning hope.  He crosses the room in a few long strides and swings the door open-

-only to feel his heart crash to the floor at his feet.  

Sam lifts his eyebrows, one side of his mouth twisting in a sardonic smile.  “I take it you were expecting someone else.”

“Sam,” Castiel says on a deflating sigh.  He forces himself to smile, but from the other man’s expression, it must not come across as very genuine.  “Good morning.”

“It’s getting close to lunch, actually.”  Sam lifts a hand, bringing Castiel’s attention to the plate bearing an overstuffed sandwich and a large helping of potato salad.  “Dean said you’d probably be starving by the time you dragged yourself out of bed.  You didn’t come down for breakfast, so I made you something.”

The spark of hope flickers back to life, and Castiel reaches out to take the offering.  Dean may have left without saying goodbye, but he’d still been thinking of Castiel’s wellbeing.  “Yes, I’m very hungry,” he says, and isn’t surprised that he can feel the truth of those words now that he’s reminded that his body needs food.  “Thank you.”

Sam accepts Castiel’s thanks with a nod, but makes no move to leave.  He eyes pass over Castiel, then sweep past him to the room.  His gaze hardens when it lands on something, and then he’s looking at Castiel again, no longer smiling, and frankly his look is somewhat intimidating.  “Can we talk?”

Castiel looks over his shoulder, cheeks reddening at the messy bed.  Despite having the window open, the place still reeks of sex and rut and heat.  “Um, of course.  But maybe not in here?”

That pulls a reluctant chuckle from the other alpha.  Sam is grinning slightly when Castiel turns back to him.  “It doesn’t bother me.  We’ve cleaned up worse after some guests.”

Castiel doesn’t want to think about what could possibly be worse.  Apparently it shows in his expression because Sam laughs again.  

“Come on,” he says, gesturing for Castiel to follow.  “I’ve got an office upstairs where we can talk privately.”

There’s no polite way for Castiel to refuse.  Not that he considers it for long.  Sam has been kind to him, and even though he has strangers in his home on a regular basis, he has treated Castiel as more than a guest in the last few weeks.  Castiel would like to think that they’d started to become friends as well.

The walk upstairs is silent, and Castiel looks around curiously.  The first floor of the B&B is mostly public rooms, and the laundry room and kitchen.  The second floor is split into several bedrooms, one bathroom for most guests to share, and the one that is shared between Castiel and Dean’s rooms.  The upstairs appears to be Sam’s office, which is separated from the master bedroom he shares with Eileen by a partial wall.  It feels strange walking into their personal space, but the fact that he was invited to do so makes him worry less about Sam’s request to talk.

Sam takes a seat behind his desk and gestures at the chair across from him in a silent invitation for Castiel to sit.  He waits until Castiel has settled down before giving the plate full of food a meaningful look.  “You should eat.”

“I should,” Castiel says, “but I’d prefer not to be distracted by food if you’re planning on jumping over that desk and dismembering me.”

Sam laughs again, and when he settles down, his smile stays this time.  He still looks somewhat solemn, but Castiel is no longer worried that Sam is going to follow through on his earlier threat.  Well.  Not much.

“Alright, we’ll talk first,” Sam says.  “But no complaining if the bread gets soggy.”

“Fair enough.”

Sam’s smile fades and he rubs a hand over his face, sighing as he appears to gather his thoughts.  Finally he looks back up at Castiel.  “You need to stay in Silverton.”

Castiel lifts one eyebrow.  He’s been told by many people that that one little motion carries a wealth of alpha disdain, and he’s used it to great advantage in boardroom and courtrooms alike.  “You think I plan on leaving?”

“Please.” Sam rolls his eyes, plenty of his own brand of alpha disdain tinging his expression.  “I saw the packed bag.  Although Dean doesn’t think you plan on going anywhere.  I hope you didn’t lie to him.”

Needing something to do with his hands, Castiel picks up the fork from his plate and starts pushing the potato salad around.  It smells delicious, and he truly is hungry, but he doesn’t think he could keep down a single bite until this confrontation is resolved.  “Dean talked to you.”

Not a question, although his brain is throwing up italicized question marks left and right.  Why didn’t Dean wake Castiel and say goodbye before he left?  Why does it hurt so much that he didn’t?

“Only because I caught him trying to sneak out.”

It shouldn’t be a relief that Dean was trying to avoid his brother as well.  It’s not exactly the behavior of a man who isn’t ashamed of what he’s been doing for the past few days.  But Castiel is comforted anyway.  He relaxes, and smiles a little.  “Is it common for Dean to run from confrontation?”

He’d meant it as a joke, but Sam’s face darkens.  He leans forward, bracing his arms on the desk and lacing his fingers together, and Castiel is reminded very much of his older brother Michael preparing to dress him down for bad behavior.  “Have you wondered at all why there are so many Weres living in Silverton, Castiel?”

Ah, so Sam knows his identity too.  He’s probably known all along, just like Dean.  The urge to escape grows inside Castiel, and he stays seated by strength of will alone.  And maybe some curiosity as to what Sam’s point is.  “I admit, I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Many of the families living here have been emancipated from Lucifer’s compounds.”

Castiel blinks.  “What?”

Holding Castiel’s gaze as firmly as any no-nonsense judge, Sam nods.  “My father and Bobby Singer have been organizing rescues and assisting escapes for about twenty years now.  Most of the kids were returned to their families, but some people didn’t want to go back to their old lives even though they no longer wanted to be part of Lucifer’s breeding programs either.  This was just a dying mining town, but it has grown into a sanctuary for those who need it.”

Castiel tries to integrate what Sam is telling him with what he already knows of Lucifer’s compounds.  He’d known that sometimes sites needed their populations ‘replenished’, although Castiel hadn’t understood the reasoning behind these missions.  But after each request from Lucifer for more children, Raphael would get involved, coordinating huge kidnapping sprees across the country.

‘To fill up the ranks’, according to a note Castiel had seen written in his brother’s own hand.  Reading it had made him ill.

“And Dean,” Sam continues, “has been part of those rescue missions for years.  He runs towards danger, not from it.  He’s the bravest man I know.”

“I see,” Castiel murmurs, lowering his eyes to the desk.  He’s already seen Dean’s bravery first hand.  If he’d given Dean a reason to fight in the salvage yard, Castiel may have found himself outmatched.  

“No.  You have no idea.”  

Sam’s eyes are hard when Castiel looks up at him again.  And Castiel knows he’s not going to like what Sam is going to tell him next.  

“You have no idea what he’s been through,” Sam continues in a low growl.  “And you have no idea how fucking incredible it is that he speaks to you.  To _you.”_

Castiel shifts in his seat.  Dean’s words come back to him, and a chill grips him.  He swallows against the sudden dryness in his throat.  “Dean says the Novak family took his voice.”

“I’m surprised he told you that.” Sam laughs, but it’s a bitter, humorless sound.  “Fucking shocked, really.  He doesn’t talk to _anyone._  Not even Eileen and she couldn’t hear him anyway.  But you?  He fucking talks to _you._  He barely knows you.  And you’re a goddamned _Novak._ ”

Castiel has to try a few times before he finds his own voice, and it’s barely more than croak.  “Tell me.”

Sam leans back in his chair and looks away.  His eyes glaze over in memory, and he looks incredibly sad.  His long fingers tap a rhythmless tattoo on the desk.  “I shouldn’t.  It’s his story to tell.  But you need to know.”

Castiel’s heart is beating so hard that he has to lean forward so he can hear Sam’s words over the thrumming in his ears.

“They tried to get us when we were babies,” Sam murmurs.  “Well, I was a baby.  Dean was four.  Mom caught them in my room, and they killed her.  The noise woke up dad, and they had to get the hell out of there without nabbing either of us.  Dean saw it happen.” He taps harder on the desk, and Castiel refrains from asking for more details, afraid Sam will clam up if pushed for too much information too fast.  “He stopped talking to anyone.  Except for me, although I didn’t understand that until I was older.  I didn’t think it was weird that he switched back and forth between talking and signing.  I was five.  I thought girls were weird, and there was nothing wrong with eating Lucky Charms for every meal of the day, and it was normal for Dean to go silent as soon as anyone besides me was in the room.”

Despite the serious subject, Castiel’s lips twitch up.  Sam is a very large man, and it’s hard to imagine him as a little boy.

“He started to get better after a while.” Sam finally looks at Castiel.  His eyes are red-rimmed and suspiciously shiny, but his voice is even and calm.  “Dad finally settled us down in one place, and Dean started making friends.  He started talking to people.  I was a little jealous at first, but I was old enough at that point to understand what a huge improvement that was for him.

“Dean started participating in school projects.  Started getting good grades because he’d actually study.  He joined the wrestling team in Junior High.  And choir.  Dad was proud.  Things were really good.  For a while.”

Castiel’s smile fades.  

“They got him when we were walking home after school,” Sam continues.  “It was late because he had wrestling practice, and I had math club.  So there weren’t a lot of people around.  A van pulled up and-” he cuts off, and the suspicious shine confirms itself to be tears when they spill past Sam’s eyelashes.  “They almost got both of us, but Dean’s a fighter, you know?”

Castiel knows.  He nods silently, and Sam continues.

“There were three of them, and it took all of them to get him into the van.  He was fighting so hard, and screaming at me to run.  And I did.  I was so scared, and I didn’t know what to do except to go find help.”

“Sam…” Castiel trails off, unsure how to comfort the other man.  Or even if he should.  He already knows where this story is going, and he has to swallow back bile.  He doesn’t want to hear the rest, but he can see that Sam isn’t going to stop.  

“I didn’t have a chance.  The van was gone before I even reached someone’s door.” Sam sniffles and rubs a wrist against his nose, then wipes away tears with his fingers.  “He was fourteen.  We didn’t get him back until he was sixteen.  And he hasn’t spoken out loud since then.  Except to me.”

And now to Castiel.  He swallows back nausea.  “Do you… do you know why?”

“No,” Sam grits out.  “He talks to me, but he won’t tell me what happened to him while he was in Lucifer’s compound.”

They stare at each other across the desk.  Castiel sees guilt in Sam’s eyes.  Anguish that he couldn’t help his brother when they were children, and that he can’t help him shoulder whatever pain he’s lived with since he was rescued.  Castiel wouldn’t be surprised if Sam feels guilty because he didn’t share Dean’s fate as well.  

Dean is about thirty now, and whatever it was that happened to him must have been hellish.

_The Novaks took my voice._

“I won’t hurt him,” Castiel says after a long silence.

“Then stay in Silverton,” Sam shoots back.  “I don’t know why, but Dean cares about you.  And if you leave, it will hurt him.”

Castiel’s eyes widen.  “Dean only told me it’s safe here.”

Sam chuckles with genuine warmth.  He wipes at his eyes, and they remain dry.  “Well, he’s not lying.  He’s just not telling you everything.”

It doesn’t seem like a good idea to get his hopes up.  To think that maybe, just maybe, some of the warm feelings that Castiel has in regards to Dean might be reciprocated.  But to know that Dean cares about him, even if it’s only for his safety because he doesn’t want Castiel to be punished by his family for ratting them out… well, he hopes anyway.  

He doesn’t want to leave Silverton.  

“I’ll stay.”

“Good,” Sam says with a nod.  He stands, bracing a hand on the desk to push himself up, as if the conversation exhausted him physically as well as mentally.  He gestures at the plate in front of Castiel before heading for the stairs.  “You should eat.  It’s roast beef.  Dean says you like it.”

Castiel loves roast beef.  But somehow the sandwich is even more delicious because it was Dean’s idea.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Squeaked one more chapter in before my trip! Yay!
> 
> Sorry if it's sloppy, I have done zero editing. I wanted to get it done before I lost track of the story thread because I'm too busy to think about it for several days.


	12. Chapter 12

The Halloween storm dumped nearly a foot of snow in Silverton and the surrounding wilderness, and Dean is glad that he didn't have to drive his baby through it.  Spending the last two days tangled up with Castiel means that the plows have had time to clear the roads, and his drive is safe and easy on dry roads all the way back to Bobby's place.  He's going to have to put her up for the winter and start driving his truck around till spring.  It's got four wheel drive and a plow shovel attached to the front, so it's much safer than his Impala during the winter, but he misses his baby already.  Just thinking about shutting her away in a garage for the next four to five months fills him with longing.

At least he tells himself that's what the hollow ache nestled between his lungs means.  It's definitely _not_ because he misses Castiel already.

He's not wishing he was back in bed with the alpha, napping through the aftermath of their shared cycle.  He's not yearning to invade Eileen's kitchen so he can make his alpha a hearty breakfast.  And he's _definitely_ not thinking if Castiel as _'his alpha'_.

He's pretty damn good at this denial thing.

When he pulls the Impala into the private drive leading to Bobby's place, he's distracted from his brooding by the sight of a familiar forest-green truck with the county sheriff's gold star emblazoned on the door.  Adrenaline pumps into his blood, and his parking job is haphazard at best, but at least he remembers to shut the engine off before he runs up the sagging porch and into the house.

He slams through the door so hard that it bangs against the wall behind it and bounces back at him, but he's already rushing deeper into the house.  He opens his mouth to shout for Bobby, forgetting that most of the time he can't manage a peep, but an irritated shout from the kitchen stops him cold and he snaps his mouth shut.

"Don't slam around like a wild animal, you damn idjit!"

Relief makes Dean's whole body sag for a moment, and he sends up a prayer of thanks to the gods he doesn't believe in before turning back to the door and closing it properly.  Then he goes into the kitchen, hands already raised to sign an apology.   _"Sorry, I saw Jody's truck out front and I thought..."_ he spreads his hands and shrugs.

"You thought I wouldn't be out here for a social call?" Jody arches an eyebrow at him before lifting her coffee to her lips and taking a deep sip.

Heat suffuses Dean's cheeks when he takes in Bobby and Jody's disheveled appearances.  Bobby is wearing a loose t-shirt he usually sleeps in, and Dean can't see from where he's at, but he'd be willing to bet Bobby's wearing his sleep pants too.  Bobby's hat is nowhere to be seen, and his thinning hair is flattened on one side with bedhead.  Next to him, so close that they must be knocking knees under the table, Jody is clearly out of uniform.  Her short, dark hair is just as mussed as Bobby's and Dean recognizes the baggy flannel overshirt draped around her thin shoulders as one of Bobby's.   

He hopes she's wearing sleep pants too.  She's not quite old enough to be his mom, but she's been treating him as one of her adopted strays since he first moved to Silverton.  It's already weird enough seeing the evidence that she spent the night.  He doesn't want to add mental images of her half naked to his already traumatized brain.

Squirming under their amused stares, Dean moves his hands shakily.   _"Something like that."_

Bobby harrumphs and rolls his eyes.  "I been telling you for years I ain't a geriatric invalid.  I ain't gonna keel over just because you're not around to keep an eye on me."

Dean knows Bobby is far from helpless, but he doesn't say that it's the increasing number of empty whiskey bottles scattered around the house that really worry him.  He forces a smile, and nods his agreement, backing out of the kitchen and away from the image of domestic bliss in front of him.  When he catches the scent of satisfied omega, his cheeks flush hotter, and he really wishes he didn't understand the smirk Jody hides behind her coffee cup.

_"I'm gonna go-"_ Dean's hands falter as he tries to come up with an excuse to get the hell out of there, _"-shower.  I need a shower."_

Jody wrinkles her nose, but her eyes sparkle with mischief.  "Good idea.  You stink."  She raises one eyebrow at him, and her next words are more serious.  "Kinda like you're mated, actually.  Is there something you wanna tell us?"

She may be deflecting attention away from her and Bobby's obvious liaison, but it works.  Dean isn't going to stick around for the inevitable barrage of questions he can see growing behind their expressions.  He backs up two more steps, shaking his head and waving his hands in front of him. _*No!*_

He stumbles out of sight just as Bobby opens his mouth for a query, and makes a swift retreat to the second floor.  He locks himself in the bathroom and cranks the shower on hot enough to fill the room with steam.

The heat stings his skin, turning it bright pink when he steps under the spray.  He hisses, and lowers the temperature slightly, but it’s still piping hot.  Ducking his head under the water, he scrubs his fingers through his hair and over his face and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes until he sees starbursts.  

He knows exactly what Jody was talking about.  Even as the water sluices away the layers of grimy sweat from his body, he can smell the change in his body.  His normally sweet, buttery scent now has a tart edge to it.  

Grabbing the unscented bar of soap, he tries desperately to wash the hint of apple from himself, but it fades slowly.  As a Were, he normally can’t stand perfumed soaps, because the fake scents irritate his heightened senses, but for once he wishes he had something that would cover up his pheromones.  

Giving up after two thorough washings, he finally shuts off the water.  He wraps a towel around himself and gathers up his things, not bothering to dry himself off before hurrying to his bedroom.  After the heat of the shower, the cool air outside the bathroom feels good and it clears his head a little by the time he’s sequestered in his room.  

Of course he smells mated.  He and Castiel shared a cycle, and their body chemistry automatically shifted to match each other.  It’s simple biology.

It’s been years since his body has tried to sync up with someone else.  Dean spends most of his heats alone, and the ones he’s spent with lovers were usually not during a shared cycle since he’s never been with anyone long enough to sync up with them.

Not since Lydia anyway.  And they weren’t synced so much as thrown together when they presented at the same time.  

Thinking of the petite female alpha brings back more unpleasant memories than he cares to deal with, and his mind beats a hasty retreat, taking him back to some of the quieter moments of the last few days.  He’d almost rather not think of Castiel either, but since his scent still clings stubbornly to Dean’s skin, it’s difficult not to.  

He's exhausted, and the constant mental hoops he's been jumping through since he left the B&B to avoid admitting that he misses Castiel are giving him a headache.  He sighs, and pulls on clothes, layering up in preparation to go out to the garage.  He should take a nap, but he doesn't want to spend all day sleeping.

Not if he can't do it snuggled up to his alpha.

His alpha.  

Fuck.  

Too tired to deny it, he decides that he needs that nap after all.  The layers are stripped back off and dropped on the floor despite his normally fastidious habits.  He plops face down on his bed and closes his eyes.  He allows himself to fantasize about Castiel's warm presence at his side, and sleep comes easily.

Xxx

 

When Dean wakes up, he has a plan.

The Plan is to pretend that nothing happened.  He didn't go into spontaneous heat twice because of Castiel.  He didn't spend a mating cycle with the alpha.  His scent hasn't changed to reflect a mating bond.  He doesn't miss Castiel and wish he had an excuse to spend time with the alpha.  And if anybody asks, those are the answers he'll give them.

But no one asks.

When Dean finally emerges from his room that afternoon, Jody is long gone, along with her sly looks, and Bobby gets right to business as soon as he catches sight of Dean.  He just hands him a work order for a tune up and asks him to dig through the salvage yard for a set of intact doors for a 1989 Pontiac Grand Am when he gets a chance.  In the garage, Garth greets him with his normal enthusiasm and immediately starts asking for advice on what might be making the clunking noise in the engine he's rebuilding.  He doesn't bring up the black Mercedes still parked in one of the stalls even though Dean's eyes are constantly pulled over to it.  And Dean gets a few text messages from Sam, but they're completely mundane, and Castiel doesn't come up in conversation at all.  

For the next few days Dean is jumpy and surly, waiting for someone to bring up what Dean feels are burning questions.  But no one says a damn thing.

And he doesn't hear from Castiel either.  That bothers him more than anything, although that is on his list of things to vehemently deny.  

He knows Castiel hasn't left town because _someone_ would have mentioned it.  So why hasn't Cas tried to contact him?  It's not like they're dating or anything, but Dean would have expected some kind of acknowledgement of the days they spent together.

Or maybe Castiel is waiting for Dean to say something first?  He's going to be waiting a while if that's the case.  Dean doesn't really have anything to say to him.

Seconds after he makes that determination he pulls his phone out and brings Castiel up in his contacts.  He probably shouldn’t use it, since he got it from the Mercedes’ repair paperwork instead of from Castiel directly, but he only hesitates for a few seconds before starting a new message.  He sweeps his finger over the virtual keyboard.

Dean:   _Your car is ready for you anytime you want to pick it up._

As soon as he sends the message, he winces.  It sounds passive aggressive as fuck.  Without waiting for a response, he sends another message.

Dean:   _No hurry tho.  Driving that jeep around is probably safer until spring anyway._

Dean:   _And Bobby won't care if you need to borrow it longer._

He stops himself from sending another message by locking the screen.  Good Lord, he's a thirteen year old girl.

The phone buzzes, and he fumbles to check it.  

Cas:   _I'm sorry I haven't been by to get it yet.  I've been working extra hours for Nora._

Cas:   _I can come by this afternoon if that's alright?_

Dean's lips twitch up in a pleased smile, and he responds immediately.

Dean:   _Yeah come by any time._

Cas:   _Thank you Dean._

A warm flush rises up under his skin and Dean smiles.  But he immediately wipes it away when a loud clank from the other side of the garage reminds him Garth is in there with him.  He pockets his phone and turns to get back to work, but his eyes catch on the hood of Castiel’s car.

There’s a footprint.  Two, actually.  He sees the second one when he leans closer to get a look.  Remembering his escape up and over the car, Dean straightens and looks at the top of the car.  He remembers it popping down under his weight, and it doesn’t look like he damaged the roof, but there are two more footprints.

Goddamn it.  

It’s a little too cold for a full wash and wax, but there’s no way he’s giving Castiel’s car back to him like that.  And if he scratched the paint, he’s going to take it back to his workshop and fix it for free.  

The thought that it’s Castiel’s fault that Dean damaged the car doesn’t even cross his mind.  There’s an anxious pit in his stomach, and it’s growing the longer he looks at those footprints.  He needs to fix them, asap.

After gathering a couple of space heaters and pointing them in the direction of the Mercedes, Dean also gathers a bucket of soapy water and a soft sponge he uses specifically for washing cars.  Despite the extra heat, his fingers stiffen with cold, but he washes every inch of black and chrome from top to bottom.  After rinsing it, he inspects the hood and the roof.  There are some tiny scratches on the hood, but they’re easy to buff out.  And then he adds a layer of wax.

Garth comes and goes from the garage.  At first he offers to help Dean, but after being rebuffed, he just makes sure to keep the doors shut so the space doesn’t get any colder.  When Dean is finished, Garth sidles up to him and inspects the car under the bright florescent lights.  

“Looks damn fine,” Garth says proudly, as if he’d overseen the work himself.  Dean would take offense, but he knows Garth is genuinely proud of his efforts.  “Steve’s going to take one look at his car and think it came right off the factory floor.”

Dean elbows Garth to get his eyes on him and lifts his hands to sign.   _“C-A-S.  He likes to be called C-A-S.”_

“‘Cas’, huh?” Garth’s ever-present smile widens.  “I like it.  I think it fits him.”

Dean snorts because he knows exactly why the name fits him, but he nods his agreement.   _“He’s supposed to come pick it up today.”_

After reading Dean’s words, Garth turns to look at the clock hanging from the back wall.  “Oh man, I’ll probably be gone when he gets here.  I promised Bess I’d be home right on time tonight so I can make dinner.  She’s having some of the church ladies over for a quilting circle.  They’re making baby blankets tonight.”  His smile turns dopey, and even though his beta scent is thin, it turns sweet with his joy.  Bess is nearing her due date, and Garth has been walking on sunshine the whole time.  

Normally the reminder of the newest addition to the Fitzgerald family is something Dean would be all too happy to hear about.  He gives Garth a lot of shit, but Dean’s excited for him and can’t wait to meet the baby when she’s born.  But the comment draws Dean’s attention to the time.  It had taken him a while to buff out the scratches on the Mercedes, and he’d layered up the wax.  The whole process had ended up taking him a few hours.

Castiel hadn’t said when he’d be coming by, but Dean expects it should be soon.  Nora’s shop closes in less than an hour, and Castiel said he’d be by after work.  

Which means Dean doesn’t have a lot of time to clean up before Castiel gets there.  He turns his attention back to Garth.   _“Get out of here before I find more work for you to do.  Tell Bess I said hi for me.”_

“Will do, my compadre!”  Garth throws his arms around Dean, who rolls his eyes and returns the hug.  It’s Garth’s typical way of saying goodbye, so he doesn’t think anything of it.  Until Garth sniffs at him, and pulls back to give Dean a searching look.  “You smell a little different.”

Betas have a strong sense of smell, but they don’t always have the ability to interpret the signals the way alphas and omegas can.  Dean uses that to his advantage now.   _“Washed my clothes at Sammy’s place, and they’ve got some new detergent.”_

Garth’s mouth goes round with an O of understanding, accepting the excuse easily.  “Well it smells damn fine.  I might have to find out what brand it is.”

Dean’s fingers twitch, but he refrains from signing _good luck with that._  Instead he claps Garth on the shoulder and nudges him toward the door before signing _“Get the hell out of here and go take care of your wife.”_

He gets one more rib-cracking hug and then Garth breezes out, leaving Dean to straighten up the garage.  He rushes through his closing routine, putting away tools but not pausing to wipe them down first.  Then he shuts off all the space heaters, the lights, and takes his leave, heading into the house.

Aside from detailing Castiel’s car, Dean had spent a large chunk of his day out in the salvage yard pulling parts out of a Honda.  He’s filthy with sweat and grime despite wearing coveralls.  So he heads upstairs and takes a quick shower.

The steam enhances his scent, and he presses his nose against his shoulder and takes a deep breath.  Yeah, he still smells mated although it’s not as strong as it was a few days before.  Once again he wishes for scented soap, but makes do with what he has.  He scrubs a little harder, and hopes that Castiel doesn’t notice the change.

After he’s clean and dressed, he heads down to the kitchen and gets dinner started.  It’s nothing special, just a couple frozen pizzas that he spruces up with extra toppings.  He shreds some sharp cheddar and gets out a pack of extra pepperoni.  He reaches for the jar of yellow peppers in the door of the fridge but hesitates.  

He closes the fridge and pulls his phone out.  After thumbing through the unlock sequence and pulling up his messages, he stares at the last message Castiel sent him.  Would it be weird to invite him to eat dinner with them if he’s just coming to pick up his car?  Would it be weird not to?

Would Castiel even accept the invitation?

Chewing at his bottom lip and feeling like the star of a made-for-teens romance, he swypes out a message.

Dean: _Hey Cas I’m making pizza.  Want some?_

He hits send before he can change his mind.  Then he wedges a thumbnail between his teeth and chews at it.  

What the hell is he doing?

The question keeps circling round and round in his head as he waits for a response.  He’s pretty sure the answer to the question is that he’s asking Castiel to have dinner with him.  It’s not even home made dinner.  And it’s not like they’ll be alone, since Bobby will be there.  So why does it feel like he’s asking Castiel on a date?

The phone vibrates in his hand, interrupting that thought process before he can come to a conclusion.

Castiel:   _I’m sorry I’m not going to be able to make it tonight.  I’m going to Nora’s after work._

Castiel:   _Are you sure Bobby won’t mind that I still have the jeep for a little longer?_

Dean stares down at the messages, and feels his throat constrict.  A tight band wraps around his chest and squeezes, making each inhale ache.  He closes his eyes and tilts his head back on his shoulders and takes several deep breaths.  When he looks down at his phone again, his vision is slightly blurry.  It takes him a minute to reply because he keeps having to go back and fix auto-correct errors.  Plus he doesn’t want to sound like he’s upset.

Even though he’s definitely upset.

Dean:   _Don’t worry about it.  It’s not like we need it for anything else._

And then, because he’s some kind of masochist:

Dean:   _Have fun at Nora’s._

Castiel:   _Thanks.  I’ll try :)_

He stares at the message until the oven beeps to let him know it’s done pre-heating.  Shoving his phone in his pocket, he moves slowly to finish dinner.  He puts one of the pizzas back in the freezer because he’s not feeling all that hungry, but he makes up the second one with the extra cheese and pepperoni for Bobby.  He leaves off the yellow peppers.  They give Bobby heartburn.

“You going out to eat?” Bobby asks when he wheels into the room just as Dean is putting the pizza in the oven.

Dean closes the oven and sets the timer before turning to answer Bobby’s question.   _“No, but I’m not really hungry right now.  Maybe I’ll eat later.”_

Bobby’s eyes narrow, and Dean wonders for the umpteenth time if he’s got some Were DNA in him.  Because he can always see right through Dean’s fibs, as if he can scent them.  “I’m pretty sure you’ve got two hollow legs, boy.  You’re always hungry.”

Dean shrugs and looks away, crossing his arms over his chest.  It’s an asshole move because he can’t communicate like that, and it’s obvious that he doesn’t want to discuss what’s bothering him.  

“This got something to do with that thing that happened that we’re not supposed to talk about?”  Bobby wheels further into the kitchen, stopping at the fridge and opening it to reach in for a soda.  Jody had filled a whole shelf with Bobby’s favorite brand of rootbeer, and it’s nice to see him drinking it instead of the whiskey.  

Jody is good for Bobby.  Dean hopes she keeps coming around.  In fact, he wishes she were here right now to keep Bobby distracted from Dean’s odd behavior.

Scratch that.  Jody would probably hound him harder than Bobby.  

Dean just lifts an eyebrow at the old human in question, pretending not to know what he means.

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit,” Bobby says.  He pops open the soda and takes a long sip, then belches before slanting Dean a disdainful look.  “I’m not stupid, I know you don’t want to talk about Castiel.  Or the fact that you went into spontaneous heat, _twice,_ and came home smelling like you’re mated.”

Dean can’t keep his hands still over that.   _“How would you know?  You’re a human.”_

“I may not have a Were sniffer,” Bobby taps the side of his nose with a fingertip, “but I’ve been living around Weres for most of my life.  I was mated to an Omega for a long time.  And you’ve been living with me long enough that I can tell when you smell different.  I didn’t know what it meant till Jody said something, but that don’t mean I couldn’t smell it.”

He could try to deny it, but Bobby’s too smart for that.  Doesn’t mean he has to talk about it though.   _“Well it doesn’t matter.  We’re not mated.  It’ll fade in a few days.”_

Bobby shifts in his wheelchair and considers Dean as he sips at his rootbeer.  The weight of his stare makes Dean feel twitchy, but he refuses to show his discomfort by fidgeting.  The silence stretches, and Dean is considering just walking out of the room to escape the heavy atmosphere when Bobby finally speaks his piece.

“It’s okay if you want to mate with him, you know.”

Dean blinks, forgets that talking out loud is not his forte and opens his mouth, but then shuts it again because even without the lump blocking his words, he doesn’t know what to say to that.  

Bobby chuckles, his eyes bright with fond humor.  “For a second there, I really thought you were gonna say something.”

When Dean was young, before he’d been kidnapped right off the street and dragged off to Lucifer’s breeding camp, he’d been able to talk to Bobby.  He’s one of the few people who knows that Dean’s condition is psychosomatic and not physical.  But he’d learned sign language for Dean anyway because he wanted to be able to communicate with him on the days that he was too stressed out to talk.  

After the kidnapping, and the two years Dean spent apart from his family, Bobby helped John rescue Dean from the camp.  He’d witnessed Dean’s breakdown when he realized that of all the kids that were rescued along with him, Lydia hadn’t been with them.  The last time he’d heard Dean’s voice it was when he was screaming her name, begging them to go back for her.  They did, eventually.  But it was too late and she’d been moved.

Sometimes it makes Dean angry that he’s lost that connection with Bobby.  Sam thinks Dean might blame him a little bit for losing Lydia, but that’s not true.  Dean’s pretty sure it’s shame for all the shitty things he’d said while he was out of his fucking mind over losing his mate.  And he’s never figured out how to apologize for that, and to thank Bobby for getting him out of there.

He doesn’t like thinking about Lydia.  Even fifteen years later, it still hurts that they were separated.  And the fact that they’ve never found her on any of their rescue missions in the years since breaks him a little bit inside.  But between Bobby mentioning the “M” word, and reminding Dean that he has a voice locked inside him, it’s hard not to picture her face.  

The image is faded with time now.  Her hair had been honey brown, just a little lighter than his own.  Her eyes had been a mossy green, without a hint of alpha red in them.  The guards had thought that pairing them together was cute since their coloring was so similar.  Their captors always talked about how they’d have such beautiful offspring.  

Lydia didn’t smile much, but he couldn’t blame her.  It was hard to smile when they were always so homesick.  But his clearest memory of her is when he’d made her laugh the first time.  They’d been locked together in a cage for a month, held in a dirty abandoned warehouse.  Part of the indoctrination was to make the kids so miserable they’d be mindlessly grateful to be taken to the compounds and given good food and warm clothing and permanent shelter.  Dean doesn’t even remember what he’d said to make her laugh, but her eyes had lit up with genuine mirth, and for the first time since he’d been snatched from his family he’d felt a little bit of hope.

They didn’t have a blood bond, but they’d been working up to it.  And being separated from her was so traumatic that Dean had never thought he’d be able to look for another mate again.

And then Castiel had shown up a few weeks ago, and Dean’s whole world has been turned upside down.  

It’s the hormones.  He knows it’s the hormones.  

But it’s also Castiel.  He practically glows with kindness, although there’s a hint of steel in his words and actions that broadcast loud and clear that he is an Alpha-with-a-capital-A and not the kind of man to be fucked with.  His sense of humor only comes out in small flashes, but the way he smiles when Dean laughs… And the way he listens to Dean so intently when he talks, his eyes taking in the movements of Dean’s hands as he tries to absorb the meaning of all the signs.

_“He’s a Novak,”_ Dean signs, as a reminder to both of them that any thoughts Dean may have about mating are completely insane.

Castiel is not like the other Novak brothers, so it’s a stupid argument.  And Bobby knows it.  “He walked out on that life, Dean.”

_“Just because my body wants him, that doesn’t mean I want to mate him._ ” Dean flushes under Bobby’s knowing stare.  

“Maybe not,” Bobby says.  “And if you don’t want to mate him, then don’t.  I’m just saying that if you _are_ interested, there ain’t nothing wrong with it.”

If it were anyone but Bobby telling him this, Dean would scoff and brush off the advice as worthless.  But Bobby’s wife Karen died because of Lucifer’s cult.  He has just as much reason to hate the Novaks as Dean does.  But he doesn’t hate Castiel.  And he thinks he’s a good guy, otherwise he wouldn’t be telling Dean that it’s okay to want him.

Something loosens inside Dean’s chest.  His body sags against the counter as if a string his body had been straining against has finally been cut.  

He’s a grown-ass man, and he doesn’t need anyone’s approval.  But having someone’s understanding is apparently exactly what he needed.  And Bobby is the man he needed to hear it from.

He taps his chin and pushes his hand out.   _“Thank you.”_

Bobby’s smile is warm with affection.  “Anytime, boy.”

The oven dings and Dean straightens from his slouch against the counter.  He pulls the pizza out and slices it before scooping it onto a plate.  He turns to find Bobby has moved to his normal spot at the head of the table where there isn’t a chair to get in his way.  After setting the plate down in front of Bobby, Dean waves a hand over it to remind him to let it cool.  Then he slumps down in another chair.

_“It doesn’t matter what I want,”_ he signs once he’s settled.   _“If Cas isn’t interested.”_

Bobby lifts an eyebrow at Dean.  “What makes you think he isn’t?”

Dean feels his hackles rise, and his lips pull back from his fangs.  Just barely, he surpresses a growl.   _“He’s on a date with Nora.”_

Bobby’s scowl is so fierce that Dean expects _him_ to growl.  “What the hell is he doin’ going out with Nora?  You two were locked up in a room together for a couple days, and he’s already going on a date with someone else?  Forget what I said earlier.  The guy’s a dick.  Maybe we should turn him in to the authorities after all and let him deal with his family on his own.”

The rant pulls a laugh out of Dean and he shakes his head.   _“Don’t worry about it.  I’m a big boy and I’ll be fine.”_

“Will you really?”

Dean thinks of Lydia, and his smile is sad.   _“I’m always fine.”_

He doesn’t look completely convinced, but Bobby grunts and doesn’t argue further.  Instead, he pushes his plate halfway across the table.  “Take a couple slices.  I don’t know why you think I can eat a whole damn pizza by myself.”

Dean obeys, wincing as the crust burns his fingertips.  He blows on the slice, and bites into it way too soon.  But that’s half the experience of frozen pizza, right?  It’s not done right if it doesn’t blister your mouth.

They eat in silence, and Dean wishes he’d actually cooked the second pizza because he’s still hungry after just two slices.  But he doesn’t feel like baking it now, so he just grabs one of Bobby’s rootbeers from the fridge and a couple of apples from the crisper, because he can’t seem to get enough of them anymore.  He waves at Bobby and points up at the second floor, lifting an eyebrow in question.   _*Need me before I head upstairs?*_

“If I need you, I’ll holler.”

This time Dean trusts that Bobby means it.  He hasn’t been drinking as much the last few days, and unless he cracks open a bottle soon, he’ll probably go to bed sober.  Dean still feels traumatized by catching Jody wearing Bobby’s clothes because she’d spent the night, but he’s going to send her a fruit basket or something as a thank you for pulling him out of his funk, even if it’s only temporary.  

He leaves the old human behind and goes up to his room.  It’s not very late, but he needs some alone time to think about his talk with Bobby, and his feelings about Castiel.  He’s definitely jealous, which is _ridiculous_ , but since his body is synced up so closely with the alpha, it’s not surprising.  

It sucks, because there’s a part of him - a large part, actually - that would really like to follow his instincts and pursue Castiel.  But it’s probably for the best that he doesn’t.  Even if Castiel wasn’t a Novak on the run, Dean’s got his own U-haul full of baggage that he doesn’t want to dump on someone else.  There’s a reason he’s stayed single for most of his adult life.  It’s much easier that way.

Still though… if he was going to mate anyone, the alpha that fucks with his chemistry in all the right ways AND is responsible for bringing down the Novak Empire and Lucifer’s Cult all in one fell swoop would be kind of an awesome choice.

He changes into pajamas and plops down on his bed, pulling his laptop down from the shelves that make up his headboard.  Netflix will keep him company tonight, and he can just let his brain hibernate from thinking too hard for the next few hours.

Before he can even power it on, his phone buzzes.  He grabs it and opens his messages and frowns at his screen.  

Castiel:   _Dean do you know anything about babies?_

What the hell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, _finally_. For a minute I thought I wasn't going to be able to get back into this story. I don't even care if this chapter is crappy, I'm just so thankful that I finished it because now I can get on to the stuff I really want to write :D
> 
> I had a blast at Atlcon! I met people and it was awesome! Thank you to everyone who came to say hi :D


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There be floof ahead :)

The scanner beeps as Castiel runs the beam over the barcode of the twenty ounce Mountain Dew, and he tucks it in a plastic bag with the pile of snacks the two boys on the other side of the counter had brought to him.  He taps a few buttons on the register, much more comfortable with the machine now than he’d started out that morning when Nora first showed him how to use it.  He smiles to think of how horrified Balthazar would be to see him now.  It’s become his favorite mental exercise to imagine the blonde man’s wide-eyed disbelief over Castiel’s new life.  

The machine totals the purchases and bright green numbers pop up on the display.  “That’ll be sixteen-thirty-two.”

The boys, Weres too young to determine their secondary gender by scent, tip their heads together and count out the money between them.  Most of it is in coins, and they pass it across the counter to him in neat stacks, each equalling a dollar.  He can count it just by looking at it; there’s a reason he’d dabbled in accounting just for kicks.  The total they give him is sixteen-thirty-five, and he passes them back three pennies, along with the bag of treats.  They grin at him, flashing baby-sized fangs, before scampering out the door with their prize.

It’s hard not to smile in return even though they don’t stick around to notice.  Castiel has never been around children very much.  He’s the youngest in his family, and because he has a different, much younger, mother than his elder siblings, even the youngest of his nieces and nephews are only a few years younger than himself.  And he’s never really thought of children very much in his day to day life.  

Until he saw the reports.  His smile fades slightly at the memory.

But the boys that just ran out of the store are free, and bright-eyed with innocence.  And his brothers are behind bars, so those boys will remain free and happy.  They’re going to go home and gorge on chocolate and caffeinated soda.  Probably play video games until too late at night and joke about whatever it is that prepubescent boys find funny.  

The mental image brings his smile back, full strength.  He doesn’t doubt his decision to turn in his brothers for their crimes.  Seeing those boys strengthens his belief that he did the right thing.  

“Cute little scamps, aren’t they?”

Castiel is startled out of his reverie, and he turns to see Zachariah emerge from one of the aisles.  He’s got a basket full of groceries hooked over his arm, which he sets on the counter in front of Castiel.  His smile is wide and toothy, and perfectly friendly, but for some reason it makes Castiel’s skin prickle.  Zachariah glances at the door the boys disappeared through, his expression fond.  “All that sugar and caffeine… They’re going to be bouncing off the walls all night.  I feel a little sorry for their parents once it all kicks in.”

“I don’t,” Castiel murmurs.  “At least they’ll have their boys at home safe and sound.”

Zachariah gives him a considering look, and then his smile widens.  “I suppose that’s all too true.”  He pushes the basket a little further across the counter, and when Castiel starts ringing up his purchases he changes the subject.  “We missed you at the Halloween party at the rec center the other night.”

Heat rises up in Castiel’s cheeks.  He keeps his eyes on his hands as he continues to scan the contents of the basket.  “I wanted to be there, but I was indisposed.  It sounds like it was quite the party, though.”

The other man’s laugh is loud and booming.  “Oh, you have no idea!  The costumes were amazing this year.  And with the moon so full, it felt like we were all on the verge of shifting.”

That brings Castiel’s eyes up, and his hands pause.  “Shifting?  You believe in that?”

Zachariah presses his lips together and shrugs, but his eyes are still bright with excitement.  “Of course not.  But sometimes I feel it in my blood, you know?  I mean, you must.  You’re an alpha.”

Castiel does not know.  His body may cycle with the moon, but he’s never felt “on the verge of shifting”, whatever that means.  The idea makes him uncomfortable.  It sounds too close to things Lucifer used to say when Castiel was a boy, before he left to start his cult.

He forces a smile.  “It was a beautiful moon this year,” he says.  “I can see why you felt moved.”  His smile becomes more genuine when he remembers watching the moon peek out through breaks in the storm with Dean pressed against his side.  

Zachariah notices the change, and his eyes light up.  “Was it a special moon for you as well?”

He isn’t about to talk to Zachariah about his rut, but if he doesn't say something to assuage the beta’s curiosity, he may not be able to escape this conversation.  He nods and continues to ring up the groceries.  “I spent it with someone special.”

It might have been the wrong thing to say because Zachariah’s beta scent sharpens and he leans over the counter to spear Castiel with an intent look.  “You’ve met someone already?  Do tell.”

The hunger in Zachariah’s eyes makes Castiel uncomfortable.  He doesn’t want to share the warmth and intimacy of those few days and nights with Dean.  Definitely not with Zachariah.  And besides, he doesn’t even know if it meant the same thing to Dean as it did to him.  Especially now that he knows a little bit of Dean’s history and why he spits the name _Novak_ with so much venom.  

“I’d rather not say,” he mutters, ringing up the last item and punching the buttons on the register to tally everything up.  

Zachariah laughs and reaches across the counter to pat Castiel on the shoulder.  “I understand, Steve.  Keep your new romance to yourself as long as you like.”  He pulls back, and takes out his wallet, passing Castiel a few bills to cover the cost.

Without comment, Castiel counts out his change and passes it over.  

“Thank you, Steve.”  Zachariah pockets the bills and coins.  He takes the bags that Castiel passes across the counter.  “Will we be seeing you in church next Monday?”

It takes an effort not to let his mouth twist with distaste.  He shakes his head.  “I’ve never been much of a church-goer.”

Zachariah’s bright smile dims a little.  “Oh.  Well, if you ever change your mind, we will welcome you with open arms.”  

“Thank you,” Castiel says.  He returns Zachariah’s wave when the other man slips out of the store.

He stares blankly at the door, bare now of its holiday decorations.  He’d assisted Nora with removing them the first day he’d returned to work after his rut.  

His last encounter with Zachariah had made his hackles rise, and he’d blamed it on his changing hormones.  But he feels a tangible change in the atmosphere now that the beta is gone.  A tension leaking from his shoulders.

There’s no reason for him to be bothered by Zachariah’s presence, but he is.  

His thoughts are interrupted by Nora calling his name.  “Ste- I mean, Cas?” She smiles shyly when he turns to look down at her.  “Sorry, still getting used to the nickname.”

“It’s alright,” he assures her with a smile of his own.  “Is there something you need?”

She shuffles closer, and looks down at the cash register, tapping her nails against the steel base.  “You’ve been doing a really great job around here,” she says.  “I wanted to let you know how much I appreciate your help these last few weeks.”

“I was out for three days,” he reminds her.  

She rolls her eyes.  “Only Humans would think that’s a problem.  That’s time I’d planned for when I hired you.  And you’ve made up for it by working overtime, which is totally unnecessary by the way.”

He ducks his head, pleased with her praise.  Years of his life had been spent working himself to exhaustion, barely allowing himself any personal time, and none of the accolades he’d received for his dedication made him feel as proud of himself.  Over something as insignificant as staying an hour or so after his shift ends to tie up loose ends around the shop so Nora can go home early to her daughter.

“I was wondering,” Nora says, her words hesitant.  “Are you busy tonight?”

His head comes up and he blinks at her.  His hand moves toward his hip and he traces the edge of his phone through his pocket.  When he’d received Dean’s message it was an immense relief.  He’d wanted so badly to speak to Dean, to see him.  But he’d been a coward, unable to make the first contact.

“I can work a little later if you need me to,” he offers.  Dean had said he could come by any time, but he wouldn’t want to disturb him or Bobby by showing up too late.  

Nora lays a hand on his arm.  “Actually I had something else in mind.”

Alarms start blaring in his head, and it takes everything he has not to step away from her touch and bare his fangs at her.  She’s been nothing but kind to him, and she doesn’t deserve that kind of rejection.  It’s not even how he would normally react to an unwanted proposition, but his whole being rebels violently at the idea of being with anyone but Dean.

“Um.” He swallows, and tries to find the words to let her down gently.  “Nora, you’re very lovely.  And I’m flattered.” Despite the severity of his reaction, he _is_ flattered.  She’s a wonderful woman.  “But I’m-” he cuts himself off, unable to tell her he’s involved with someone else when he doesn’t really know what’s going on between him and Dean.

Her eyes narrow, confusion clear in every curve of her face.  And then they widen with realization and she barks out a laugh.  She cups a palm over her mouth, but her giggles are only slightly muffled behind it.

She drops her hand from her mouth, pressing it to her chest instead.  Her eyes are still bright with laughter when she speaks.  “ _I’m_ the one who should be flattered, that you would think of me that way,” she says before giggling again.  She takes a deep fortifying breath and waves air at her burning cheeks.  “Wow, you thought I was asking you on a date or something?  Just… wow, Cas.”

Now he’s confused.  “Then… what is it you wanted from me?”

After pressing her palms to her cheeks and giggling a few more times, she finally huffs out a sigh.  “How are you with children?”

He blinks at her, utterly at a loss for how the conversation turned in this direction.  “Um.  I don’t know?”

Her humor fades, and this time her sigh is disappointed.  “I guess it was too much to hope for,” she murmurs.  “Nevermind.  It’s not important.”

“No, what is it?” He cups his hands over her shoulders when she moves to turn away.  “What do you need?”

“I need a babysitter.”

Okay, that’s… unexpected.  He lifts his eyebrows.  “And you’re asking me?  To babysit?”

“Well it was a long shot.  My regular babysitter has the flu, and my backup is her sister so they’re both down for the count.  I’m supposed to go to Bess’ quilting party tonight, but if I can’t find someone to watch Tanya, I won’t be able to go.”

He’s very aware of his phone digging into his hip.  He very much wants to visit Dean, to see if the connection he feels to the omega is still there now that they’re no longer in cycle.  To see if Dean might possibly feel the same attraction.

But Nora looks so heartbroken over missing Bess’ party.  And he’s touched that she would trust him with her child.  Especially since he’s a Novak.  She doesn’t know that, but he’s intensely aware of that fact.  

“I can take care of Tanya for you.”  

The way her face lights up makes his sudden anxiety over his offer calm down slightly.  Although he’s sure to panic eventually.  He’s got years of practice keeping his stress under wraps though, so he can probably hold the panic attack off until _after_ he’s done babysitting.

"Thank you, Cas.  Can you be to my place by six?"

The shop closes at five, and there's still the after hours clean up and prep that needs to be done.  He won't have time to go pick up his car before six, and his heart sinks with disappointment, but he doesn't hesitate to agree. "Of course."

Nora's happy grin and light scent make the sacrifice sting less.  Plus, he's still nervous about seeing Dean again so this will give him a small reprieve.  

More customers enter the store, and he's distracted from dwelling on his own cowardice as he gets back to work.  There's a rush as people get out of work for the day, and the rest of the afternoon passes quickly.  It's not until he's flipping the sign from open to closed and his phone buzzes in his pocket that he realizes he forgot to tell Dean about his change in plans.

His heart sinks when he sees the message.

Dean: _Hey Cas I'm making pizza.  Want some?_

He sighs and sends Dean a message explaining that he won't be able to make it.  It's disappointing that Dean doesn't seem to care one way or the other, but Castiel reminds himself that there's no emotional context behind texting as he puts his phone away and goes back to his routine for closing the store.

Nora had left earlier, entrusting him with the major duties of counting out the register and locking the cash away in the safe.  Determined to keep her trust, he is meticulous with the count.  After that, cleanup takes little time.  Soon he's out the door, locking it behind him and heading for his borrowed jeep.  He follows the directions Nora gave him and finds her house easily, parking out front and nervously jingling his keys in his palm as he approaches the door.  

His knock is answered quickly, and he feels slightly better when he sees how happy Nora is to see him.  He knows she gets very little free time to herself because she's a single mother, and he's glad he can do this small favor for her.

Until he's alone with Tanya and he remembers that he had exactly zero experience with children.

The evening starts out easy.  Nora had already fed and bathed her daughter and Castiel basically needs to keep her supplied with toys and clean diapers until bedtime in an hour.  He's more than a little apprehensive about the diaper part, but after watching a how to video on YouTube, he's mostly sure he can handle it.

Tanya seems content to practice rolling over and wiggling around in the confines of her playpen at first.  Castiel kneels next to the playpen and watches with fascination as she pushes herself up unto her hands and rocks back and forth as if she's trying to figure out how to get up on her knees too.  She's young enough that she's not quite crawling although Nora warned him that she's a fast little belly-scooter which is why he should keep an extra vigilant eye on her if he decides to give her the freedom of the living room floor.

Her eyes are still fully omega gold, although he can see hints of a darker ring around the iris.  He wonders what color they'll eventually fade into, even as he admires their shine and the determination in her tiny expressions as she scoots around inside the playpen.

He's just starting to relax when Tanya starts fussing.  After changing her diaper - which looked easy on the tutorial because they demonstrated on a doll instead of an actual squirming baby, but he manages eventually to do successfully - and feeding her and burping her, she's still fussy.  Her little face turns red, and her wines turn into full-lunged cries.

He walks a circle around the living room, trying to soothe her with soft spoken words and off key singing, but she seems offended by the attempt and only cries harder.  He's almost ready to cry himself after a little while.  He's got to be doing something wrong, but he doesn't want to bother Nora yet, and YouTube is failing him.

The idea comes from nowhere, but before it's even fully developed, he's got his phone out and he's texting Dean.  

Castiel: _Dean do you know anything about babies?_

With Tanya crying in his ear it feels like forever before a response comes through, although it's less than a minute in actual measurable time.  And it isn't until the phone buzzes against his palm that he realizes how scared he was that he wouldn't get a response at all.  He bounces Tanya, shifting her into a more comfortable position against his chest, and sighs in relief when he reads the message.

Dean:   _I know enough to get by.  Why?_

Castiel: _I am watching Tanya for Nora, and I believe I may be in over my head._

He nearly drops the phone when Tanya throws her head back with a loud wail and he has to grab her with both arms so she doesn't pitch head first to the floor.  To be safe, he sits down with her while he checks Dean's next message.

Dean:   _You're babysitting???_

Castiel feels those question marks deep in his soul.  Because he's not sure what madness made him agree to this either.

Castiel:   _Yes.  And Tanya is upset but I can't figure out what's wrong._

Dean:   _Did you call her mom yet?_

He sighs.  He really should.  

Castiel:   _I didn't want to disappoint her by ending her evening early._

Tanya whimpers and drops her head against his shoulder.  He sets his phone on his knee and strokes her hair.  She sniffles and rubs her face against his shirt, and for a moment he thinks she may be calming down, and that he's just overreacting.  But apparently she was just taking a break to catch her breath because after a moment she lets out an ear splitting screech and she starts wiggling again.  His phone vibrates, and slips from his knee to the floor with a dull thud.  Tanya wiggles even harder when he bends down to retrieve it and he's careful not to squeeze her too hard so she doesn't fall.  She's so tiny and delicate, and he's achingly aware of how easy it would be to injure her with his strength.

Dean:   _I'm coming over. Be there soon._

Castiel's knee jerk reaction is to tell him there's no need, but he's flooded with relief that Dean is on his way.  He pockets his phone and resumes rocking Tanya and murmuring soothing sounds against her sweet smelling hair.  Her distress is clear in her scent, and he tries not to let it infect him.  If she senses his upset, it won't help to calm her at all.

Sooner than he expects, there is a knock at the door.  He doesn't even pause to check if it's Dean before he swings the door open.  When he sees the omega illuminated by the porch light, his whole body sags with relief.  "Dean.  Thank you for coming."

There's a flash of what looks like humor in Dean's eyes when he steps inside.  Then he turns his attention to Tanya and his expression morphs to one of concern.  He holds out his hands in a silent request, and Castiel passes her over to him without question.

Tanya struggles and whines, but when Dean cups her head with a large, gentle hand and pulls her toward his throat to scent him, she immediately calms.  She snuffles wetly, and she still makes little whimpering noises, but she doesn't fight him the way she did with Castiel.

Tension also eases from Castiel's shoulders and he manages a smile.  "Ok you'll have to tell me how you did that."

Dean chuckles.  "You stink like scared alpha, Cas.  You were probably freaking her out."

"Well, the feeling was mutual."  Castiel lifts a hand, hesitating just before touching the little omega.  He strokes her back, and smiles at her when she peeks at him from under Dean's chin.  "I want her to be okay."

Dean gives him an unreadable look before turning his attention to Tanya.  He brushes the damp curls away from her temple, and then frowns and presses the backs of his fingers against her cheek, before doing the same to her forehead.  "She's got a bit of a fever."

True panic seizes Castiel.  "She does?  Do we need to get her to a hospital?"  He remembers how small Silverton is and his distress grows.  "How far is the closest one?  Should I call Nora?"

Tanya picks up on his scent and starts to wiggle and cry again.  Dean grabs Castiel's shoulder and squeezes, grounding him with the warmth of his touch.  "Calm down, Cas.  Let's see if you can find her some baby Tylenol first, okay?"

He sounds so calm and the suggestion is so reasonable that Castiel can feel his heartbeat slowing down.  Part of him would like to bury his nose against Dean's neck and scent him just like Tanya is doing, but the part of him that is the calm and collected lawyer finally clicks on and he's able to take a deep breath and nod his agreement.  "Alright."

Dean settles down on the couch with Tanya while Castiel searches.  He finds what he needs in the bathroom medicine cabinet, and brings it to Dean.  He carefully measures out a dose in the syringe and hands it over to Dean who coaxes Tanya to swallow the sticky liquid.  It takes about fifteen minutes before there's a noticeable change.  She blinks sleepily a few times before yawning wide and zonking out against Dean's shoulder.

He continues to rock her and gently pet her back for another ten minutes or so.  When he checks her temperature again, he nods approval and slowly stands so he won't disturb her with the movement.  He lays her on her belly in the playpen and covers her with a pastel pink and green blanket.  Then he removes her toys from the crib so she won’t roll over onto them, before he comes back to the couch to sit next to Castiel.

_Right_ next to Castiel.  They're pressed together from shoulder to thigh to knee.  And despite his confusion about what that might mean, Castiel relaxes into him as the last of his tension melts away.

"Thank you for coming, Dean."

Dean pats Castiel's knee in wordless acknowledgement.  He leaves his hand there, and Castiel stares at it, remembering how it looked so large against Tanya's back.  That hand is covered in calluses and scars, and there's a thin ring of black oil under his nails that is probably a bitch to get rid of after a long day of digging through engines.  There's a leashed strength in that hand that Castiel respects.  It could easily bruise and crush, but Dean's touch was feather light when handling the baby.

He wants to reach out and take that hand in his own.  To feel the contradicting forces hiding under the work roughened skin.  But he's still not sure he's allowed to.

"You ok, or do you need a dose of baby Tylenol too?"  Dean grins crookedly when Castiel's eyes shoot up to look at him.  "It may be the same color and consistency as semen, but it tastes like grapes.  Sort of."

Castiel blinks, and then he remembers the goopy white fluid in the medicine bottle, and he snorts a laugh.  "That's disgusting.  It’s for _children._ ”

“They don’t know!  They’re not in on the joke!” Dean laughs too, but he covers his mouth with his other hand when Tanya stirs, trying to muffle himself.

Their laughter calms down, and they both turn their attention to the sleeping baby.  Castiel is acutely aware of Dean’s heat, and the tiny back and forth brush of his thumb where it rests on his leg.  He wants to ask Dean what’s going on, but he’s afraid of jinxing it.  

“You’re very good with her,” Castiel murmurs after several long minutes of companionable silence.  He turns his attention Dean, tracing the curves and planes of his profile with his eyes.  “Do you have a lot of experience with babies?”

Dean glances sideways at him, and something dark passes behind his eyes, but his scent sweet and buttery, with no undertones of discomfort.  “Some.  Being an omega helps too.  My scent usually calms them down.”

That makes sense.  There’s a reason omegas are considered the ideal mate to raise offspring.  Castiel thinks the stereotype is antiquated, but there’s no denying that omegas usually have a calming effect on those around them.  That would be very useful when dealing with children.  

They lapse back into silence, and Castiel concentrates on sitting upright and not leaning into Dean’s side.  He wants to so badly though.  And it would take very little to lay his head on Dean’s shoulder and nuzzle the base of his throat.  

“I take it you don’t have experience with babies?” Dean says after a moment.

“I have no experience with babies _or_ children,” Castiel admits.  

Dean swings his head around and pins Castiel with an incredulous look.  “Then why did you agree to babysit?”

Castiel shrugs, and the motion rubs their arms together.  His skin tingles under his sleeve.  “Nora doesn’t have any help with Tanya, and she wanted to go to Bess’ quilting party.  I wanted to help her.”  He tilts his head, grinning a little at his own hubris.  “And I thought it couldn’t be too hard.  YouTube was very helpful.”

Clapping a hand over his mouth again, Dean turns his face into Castiel and his whole body shakes with suppressed laughter.  “Holy shit, Cas.” His hand slips from his mouth to grip Castiel’s sleeve.  “Fucking _YouTube_?”

“Shhh… watch your language.”

“She has no idea what I’m even saying, Cas.”

“Still.”

Dean chuckles again, but he doesn’t argue.  He also doesn’t lift his head.  Instead he nuzzles Castiel’s shoulder, and inhales deeply.  His next words are spoken on a sigh.  “I thought you had a date with Nora tonight.”

Castiel hears a thread of _something_ in Dean’s voice, and his buttery scent loses some of its sweetness.  He hasn’t known Dean long enough to recognize all the ways his scent changes based on his moods, and he tells himself to stop being ridiculous when he imagines for a brief moment that it might be jealousy.  “Actually, I thought she was asking me out on a date at first, too.”

A hint of sourness invades Dean’s scent, but his tone is neutral.  “Would you have said yes?”

Maybe he’s not being ridiculous.  Heart thudding with eagerness he keeps his voice just as even when he answers.  “No.  I have no interest in her as anything more than a friend.”  Dean stays silent but the sour edge of his scent smoothes away.  “Would it have bothered you if I had gone on a date with her?”

Dean lifts his head and his green-gold eyes pierce Castiel.  “Yes.”

Castiel’s next question is barely more than a breath.  “Why?”

“Because…” Dean’s eyes go dark, and the space between their faces narrows.  His breath, slightly peppery from the pizza he must have eaten before he came over, is warm and damp against Castiel’s lips.  “I would like you to go on a date with me instead.”

Despite their proximity, which blares with warning that Dean is about to kiss him, and despite the fact that just a few days before they’d been entwined together with nothing separating them but a thin film of sweat on their skin, Dean’s announcement surprises Castiel.  Dean has already told him that he doesn’t think Castiel is like his brothers, but Castiel himself cannot forget that he’s a Novak.  And after learning that Dean was temporarily one of Lucifer’s stolen children he’s been plagued by nightmares about walking through one of the breeding camps and finding Dean there, caged and naked.  

Dean should hate him.  

Dean does not hate him.

He’s not quite sure how to process that.  But he’s also not able to turn away from Dean, because the simple truth is that Castiel wants this thing, whatever it is, that is between them.  He wants to hold on to it, nurture it, let it grow into something profound.

“I would like that too,” he says softly.

A slow smile starts in Dean’s eyes before it reaches his lips.  It quirks lazily to the side, all mischief and boyish charm.  “Awesome.  We still have to finish our Marvel movie marathon.  I can make you dinner.”

“When?” Castiel blushes at the breathless quality of his voice.  So much for alpha assertiveness.  But Dean makes him feel like a boy with a first time crush.

“Friday?”

“That’s tomorrow.”

“Too soon?”

“No.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, and finally the anticipation is too much for Castiel.  He closes the space between them and kisses Dean, soft and chaste.  Dean’s smile is even more radiant when Castiel leans back again.  His scent is thick and sweet and heady, coating Castiel’s sinuses and making his own body thrum with happiness.  There’s a catch in his lungs, and a low rumbling purr rises up from his chest.

Dean shifts so that his body is angled toward Castiel, and he pulls him in for another kiss, one arm around Castiel’s shoulders and the other cupping his cheek.  His thumb brushes through Castiel’s growing beard, first going against the grain, then smoothing the hair back down.  The kiss is less chaste, open mouthed and wet, but it doesn’t feel urgent.  It feels like the end all, be all of the moment.  It’s not intended to lead toward anything else.  Which is good, of course, since there’s a baby sleeping only a few feet away.

After a moment it’s interrupted by Dean’s laugh.  He leans back just enough that he can look at Castiel and his grin is as crooked as ever.  “I’m the babysitter’s bootycall.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, but he’s still purring, and he’s definitely still smiling.  “Hush up and kiss me some more.”

The slant of Dean’s grin turns wicked.  “You got it, Alpha.”

They make out on the couch like a couple of teens, sometimes pausing to breathe each other in and nuzzle against each other’s throats before going back to each other’s mouths.  Their hands explore, but it’s nothing more than palms smoothed over arms, and fingers brushing over backs, and thighs, and knees.  Dean likes to play with Castiel’s beard, murmuring about his awesome peach fuzz in between kisses.  Castiel had been considering shaving soon, but if Dean likes his beard, he may keep it a little bit longer.

Eventually the kisses fade away, and they cuddle into each other.  Castiel falls into a light doze, aware only of Dean’s scent and the stroke of his fingers through the hair at his temple.  

He’s startled into full wakefulness when keys rattle outside the door, and then it opens.  He sits straight up and looks wide-eyed with apprehension over the back of the couch.  Next to him, Dean barely shifts, just lifting his hand and waving at Nora as she comes inside.

She looks confused, but she still smiles with welcome.  “Hey, Dean, how are you?”

Dean gives her a thumbs-up with the hand he used to wave.

“I’m sorry, Nora.  You didn’t say anything about guests, but I probably should have asked first-”

She cuts him off with a head-shake and a handwave as she hangs her purse on a hook next to the door.  “Don’t worry about it, Cas.  Dean is more than welcome any time.”

A flash of white makes Castiel look over at Dean.  He’s grinning widely.  He nudges Castiel, and then stands up, looking at down at him expectantly.

Castiel’s limbs are still lethargic from his pseudo-nap, and it takes him a moment to organize their movements in such a way that he’s able to stand up as well.  He wobbles a little, and ends up catching his balance against Dean.  

Dean wraps an arm around his waist to steady him.  Then doesn’t let him go.

Nora notices their closeness, and from the look in her eye, she greatly approves.  But she doesn’t address it.  “What do I owe you for tonight, Cas?”

He shakes his head at her offer.  “Don’t worry about it.  The experience was payment enough.”

Dean snorts a laugh.  He lets go of Castiel long enough to sign something to Nora.

She giggles at whatever he says.  She obviously knows sign language, and Castiel makes a mental note to ask her to practice with him so he can learn faster.  “Yeah, Cas kind of gave the impression that he wasn’t too experienced.”  She looks at Cas to include him in the conversation.  “I spent most of the party waiting for my phone to ring.”

Dean signs something again.  Castiel only catches the words _“good”_ and _“job”._

“That’s good to know,” Nora says.  She turns back to Castiel.  “He says you did a good job on your own until Tanya got fussy.  She’s been teething lately… I’m sorry I forgot to warn you.”

Castiel winces in sympathy for the sleeping baby.  “Poor thing.”

Nora and Dean nod in agreement.  They chat for another moment, quietly so as not to disturb Tanya, and then Dean and Castiel say their goodbyes.

Dean walks with Castiel all the way to the door of his jeep.  Then he cups Castiel’s face and kisses him feather-light.  “See you tomorrow.”

Castiel watches Dean walk to his Impala, admiring the swagger his bowed legs give him.  Even though he’s not a church-goer, Castiel still believes in the gods.  He’s not sure if they’re listening or not, but just in case, he sends up a prayer to Luna and Fenrir, thanking them for guiding him to the little town of Silverton and breaking his car.  


	14. Chapter 14

The third time Dean catches Garth grinning at him like a proud papa, Dean slams down his tools and signs _"What?"_

As always, Garth is undeterred by Dean's glare.  Probably because it has less bite than an angry voice.  His smug smile widens.  "So I heard you and Cas might be a thing now."

Maybe he'd be less smug if Dean actually bit him.  It's more tempting than ever.  He rolls his eyes instead.   _"What are you, a teenage girl?"_ he signs, _"Who are you gossiping with?"_

"Bobby told me I gotta scram early so you and _'Cas'_ -" he stresses the name with a wink and a crooked grin, "-can have some alone time."

Oh gods, it's already starting.  Everyone that knows him is going to be sticking their noses in his relationship with Cas.  Nora knows, and now Garth, which means he's going to tell Bess, who will probably try to keep quiet, but it will eventually get out to her church buddies.

But would that really be a bad thing?  

People are going to sense it soon, even if there isn't talk.  His scent has already changed slightly, so people with more sensitive sniffers are going to notice.  Castiel's scent has changed too, although few people know him well enough to sense it, but the hint of cinnamon had sent Dean's heart pounding, and he'd practically started drooling when he'd walked into Nora's house.  If they weren't both distracted by a suffering baby, he might have jumped Castiel right then and there.  And he hadn't tried very hard to resist kissing him after Tanya had settled down.

During those heady moments when Castiel had been pressed against him, all Dean could think about was how right and perfect it felt.  There had been no sexual urgency driving him.  Just a need to comfort the stressed alpha and to take a little comfort of his own.

It had felt incredibly domestic.  Cuddling on the couch in the dim light of a lamp, no tv or music distracting him from Castiel's deep purr.  A baby sleeping a few feet away-

He cuts that thought off.  Admitting to himself that he might want to mate Castiel is one thing, but baby stuff is way outside his comfort zone right now.

Staking his claim on the alpha is something he can focus on though.  If letting the gossip spread will help that happen, then he really doesn't mind.  He can deal with the well wishers and the knowing smiles.  If things go the direction Dean wants, he'll have no choice.

And he'll have Castiel.

The thought makes Dean smile. _"Yeah,"_ he signs, _"Cas is coming over tonight.  I'm making him dinner."_

Anyone else might be surprised by Dean's shift from annoyance to sappy joy, but Garth doesn’t even register it. Or he doesn't give a shit.  Dean's never sure if his endless optimism and good cheer is real or an elaborate facade to throw people off their game.  "That's great, Dean!  Whatcha planning on making?"

It would probably be more romantic to make something like steak or maybe a fancy pasta with a pile of green leafy stuff on the side, but Dean's a simple guy and he has the feeling that Castiel wouldn't care if he made mac'n'cheese from a box.  Castiel had been happy with everything Sam and Eileen had brought them during their cycle, but he'd absolutely loved the roast beef, making the most obscene noises while he ate.  And during one of the times they'd talked between naps and sessions of fucking, he'd mentioned a few of his favorite foods, admitting that most of them involved red meat of some sort.  One of which was a juicy burger loaded with cheese and bacon and fresh, crunchy veggies.

 _"I'm gonna make him burgers,"_ Dean says with a smirk.

Garth laughs.  "Oh man, I'm kinda jealous!"

 _"You're married,"_ Dean quips.   _"And if Bess finds out about your massive crush on my cooking skills, she might shred me."_

"Pfft, not my Bess."  Garth turns away, starting to put away his tools.  "She's sweet as fresh honey and wouldn't hurt a fly."

Bess _is_ sweet natured, but Dean isn't sure she's as docile as Garth thinks she is.  Her father helped Bobby and the Winchester men with finding homes for rescued Weres, and Bess was in on it too.  She's got a bit of fire in her.  Dean isn't going to be the one to ruin the illusion, though.  

Deciding it's probably a good time to start getting ready for Castiel's visit, Dean also starts putting things away.  They only have a restoration job, and there isn't anything else demanding their attention.  After they wash up, they head into the house together.  But instead of saying goodbye to Bobby, like Dean expected, Garth asks him if he has everything he needs before he takes him to town.

Dean snaps his fingers to get their attention.   _"Where the Hell are you going?"_

Bobby gives him an unimpressed look.  "I ain't gonna stick around here while you and your new beau are courting.  The walls ain't as thick here as they are at Sam's place, and I don't want to hear you boys if you get rambunctious."

Heat boils up from Dean's neck, flushing his cheeks and his ears.   _"We're not going to-"_  But he cuts off because yeah they probably are.  

"Uh huh.  I thought so."  Bobby's voice is dry, but there's a twinkle in his eyes.  "Anyway, Garth's taking me to visit Jody and the girls.  I'll be home later, so you two better take it to the bedroom.  I don't wanna be scarred for life when I get here."  When Dean lifts his hands to sign a denial again, Bobby puts up a palm.  "I was born at night, but not last night.  I know how it works."

Deciding that he's done being the butt of the joke, Dean counters.   _"I hope so.  Jody doesn't seem like the type of omega to put up with teaching an old dog like you the birds and the bees."_

Bobby's eyes narrow, but he doesn't take the bait.  Instead he turns his attention to Garth, and tells him he's ready to go.  While Garth helps Bobby into the truck, Dean loads the wheelchair into the back.  And then they're gone and Dean has the place to himself.

But he still has to get ready for dinner, and he needs to take a trip to town as well.  He's got frozen beef, but that isn't good enough.  He wants things to be perfect, which means a trip to the butcher shop for fresh beef.  He grabs his wallet and his keys and after a glance at the dark gray sky, decides to take the truck instead of the impala.  It's not supposed to snow until the next day, but those clouds look like they don't want to wait.  As he drives into town, He hopes the weather lady is right this time because  If a storm interferes with his plans for the evening, he's going to be pissed.

The stop at the butcher shop is quick.  Benny hasn't lived in Silverton long and he hasn't picked up enough sign language for Dean to communicate with him easily, but he waits patiently for Dean to type up his request on his phone's notepad.  When he passes the wrapped package of meat over the counter a few minutes later, he smiles at Dean's signed _thank you,_ and answers with gruff "Anytime, brother."

Excitement thrums under Dean's skin as he leaves the butcher shop and climbs into his truck.  He also needs to pick up a few things at Nora's shop, and he's pretty sure Castiel will be working.

As soon as he opens the shop's doors a melange of scents smack him in the face.  The plastic-y smell of packaging, and sugary day-old pastries supplied by the bakery down the street.  Over roasted coffee and stringent cleaning supplies.  Lingering pheromones from dozens of patrons that have passed through the store already today.  And under it all, a thread of crisp apples and cedar, with just a bite of cinnamon.

He lifts his head and scents the air, letting his lips part so he can pull the flavor in as well.  Goosebumps erupt along his arms and up the back of his neck, and saliva floods his mouth.  It only takes a split second for him to find Castiel with his eyes.  The alpha is behind the counter, smiling sweetly at an older omega woman as he hands her a bag full of her purchases.

The smile transforms Castiel.  Most of the time he looks somewhat stern, and maybe a little confused.  Most of his smiles are so tiny, they only shine from his eyes, and Dean secretly loves them.  But when he smiles like he is now, eyes and nose crinkled, and teeth bared without threat, he practically glows with kindness and joy.  

Castiel is still smiling when he looks up from the woman and his eyes widen when they land on Dean.  And somehow, his smile brightens even further.  It's instinct to smile back, and Dean lifts a hand and waves like a damn teenager with a crush.  And he fucking _blushes_ when Castiel waves back.  

Holy shit, he might be whipped already.

There's another customer waiting for Castiel's attention so Dean moves further into the shop.  Nora's store is the closest thing Silverton has to a grocery.  It doesn't have the biggest selection, but it carries things that people can't get at the butcher shop or the bakery.  Most people have gardens so Nora doesn't stock a lot of produce, but there's lettuce and tomatoes and onions among the options laid out near the back of the store, and he gathers the best he can find in the hand basket he grabs from the stack next to the door.  

He also picks up some cheese from the refrigerated section.  There's only cheddar, Swiss, or mozzarella, and he's not sure which one Castiel would like best, but cheddar is classic and Bobby loves grilled cheese sandwiches so he gets some of that.  

By the time he's gathered the things he needs, Castiel is no longer taking care of other customers.  Dean turns to find Castiel watching him with one of his warm, eyes-only smiles, and he's pretty damn fond of those kind of smiles too.

He sets his basket on the counter, and waves again.  Gods, he's dumb.  And not just because he can't talk.

"Hello, Dean.  How are you?"

Good. Great. Fantastic now that he's close enough to really soak in Castiel's scent.  But the only way he can express that is with a thumbs-up.  He points at Castiel and lifts an eyebrow in question.   _*What about you?*_

Castiel pulls the basket closer and starts ringing up Dean's purchases.  "Mostly good, but time seems to occasionally rewind itself because today feels much longer than it should."

Dean chuckles.  Without thinking, he raises his hands to sign.   _"Excited for tonight?"_

Castiel's smile doesn't fade, but his brows furrow and his head tilts to the side.  He stops what he's doing and signs _excited._ "I only caught this.  If you're asking if I'm excited-"  He forms the sign again, waving his hands carefully, "-then yes, I am."

It's not often Dean is frustrated by his inability to speak out loud.  Most of the people he interacts with have learned sign language from Eileen.  And he doesn't really mingle with most of the townsfolk because he's somewhat anti-social.  The hero worship he sees in some people's eyes makes him feel uncomfortable.  But now his heart sinks because Castiel can't understand him, and Castiel is someone he _wants_ to speak to.  And he can feel the lump-that's-only-in-his-head swelling up in his throat when he considers trying to use his voice to communicate.

Castiel notices his change of mood, and his tiny smile morphs into a frown.  "What's the matter?"

Dean opens his mouth and tries to make sounds come out, but his vocal cords don't respond.  He palms his throat, and growls, the only noise he's capable of making.

"You're upset you can't talk?"

Dean nods, and huffs in frustration.

Castiel's smile comes back.  The sweet one that shows the tips of his fangs between his lips.  "I understand you just fine."

Only because they're not having a complex conversation.  Dean lifts his hands to sign, then drops them to the counter, his fingers curled into fists.  He glares down at them.

Castiel’s hands slide over Dean’s knuckles, and he gently grasps Dean’s wrists.  To Dean’s utter shock, he lifts them from the counter and leans across to place a kiss against the back of each of Dean’s hands.  His blue eyes are warm when Dean looks up at him in question.

“I’m learning to understand your language, Dean,” Castiel murmurs.  “Give me time.”

 _Give me time._ Not _maybe you'll get better,_ or _have you considered therapy_ like he's heard from others when they found out his condition is psychosomatic.  They wanted him to learn to talk so they wouldn't have to learn sign language.  It's why he stopped telling people the details of his condition.

But Castiel knows Dean has a voice; he's _heard_ it.  And he still wants to learn sign language to make communication easier for Dean.  

"Can I ask you a favor though?"

Or maybe not.  Dean stiffens, trying to hold back the angry growl he can already feel trying to bubble up from his chest.

"Will you use sign language even when we're alone?"  Castiel squeezes Dean's fisted hands.  "It'll help me pick it up faster."

Dean blinks away a suspicious sting behind his eyes, and he nods slowly.  His brain feels fuzzy, unaware of how to handle the sudden shift from _fuck this asshole_ to _holy shit I might be in love._ And that last thought is about to freak him out when Castiel distracts him in the best way.

Castiel lets go of Dean's hands and signs slowly and carefully, obviously thinking through every movement to make sure he has them right.   _"May I kiss you?"_

This time Dean's nod is more vigorous.  He cuts off Castiel's laugh by grabbing him by the shirt and practically dragging him across the counter to mash their lips together.  There's no finesse in the kiss, but it turns dirty when Castiel tilts his head to the side so their mouths slot together properly.  Dean runs his tongue over the seam of Castiel's lips and licks past them when they part.  Castiel moans into him and Dean inhales through his nose, pulling in as much of Castiel's essence as possible.  The cinnamon underlying both their scents thickens.

A throat being cleared behind Dean snaps his brain back into focus, and he finally loosens his grip on Castiel and ends the kiss.  They part, but don't go far.  Castiel's eyes are a haze of blue, heavy lidded and dark with lust.  Dean grins and pulls him close again, this time lining up their cheeks so Dean's lips brush Castiel's ear.

"Add a box of condoms," he whispers, proud that he’s able to get that much out when he knows there’s an audience behind him.  It makes the suggestion feel even more illicit.  He flicks his tongue over Castiel's earlobe, then releases him.

Castiel is flushed, lips red and damp.  His shirt and uniform vest are rumpled from Dean's grip, and his hands tremble as he smoothes them over his clothes.  It takes him a moment to gather himself, and his cheeks remain bright pink as he reaches under the counter where Nora keeps the condoms so teens won't steal them.  He scans the box and puts it in the bag with the rest of Dean's purchases.  His voice is rough when he speaks.  "That'll be twenty-three forty-seven."

Feeling much better now that he's no longer the only one left off-balance, Dean plucks twenty-five dollars from his wallet and passes it over.  Their fingers brush, and then again when Castiel hands him his change.  It feels like a promise.

Dean gathers up his groceries and taps two fingers to his forehead in a lazy salute, which Castiel returns with a tiny wave.  He turns to find Nora directly behind him, arms crossed and toe tapping a beat against the linoleum floor.  She's trying to look stern, but her lips are twitching.  "Stop distracting my employee, Dean.  He's still on the clock for a few more hours."

He gives her a crooked grin and bounces his eyebrows at her.  He leaves the store with her laughter trilling behind him.

Xxx

 

Dean is glad Bobby decided to vacate the premises when he opens the door to Castiel's knock.  His fresh apple scent is strong over the sharp winter air, and Dean wants to drag him straight upstairs and remove all his clothing and keep him naked and sex-warm for the rest of the night.

He's usually able to control his baser instincts though, so he settles for pulling Castiel inside, shutting the door against the cold, and kissing the alpha.  Castiel's hands are icy when they come up to cup Dean’s face, and Dean covers them with his own to try and share some of his body heat.  They separate at the same time, both breathing a little harder than they were before.

That’s when Dean realizes what Castiel is wearing.  He fingers the ugly scarf, and eyes the beanie pulled down over Castiel’s ears.  “These are mine.”

“You gave them to me.” Castiel’s counter argument sounds friendly, but there’s a defiant tilt to his chin that says Dean will have to get rough if he wants them back.

Dean reaches up and runs his fingers through Castiel’s beard, humming thoughtfully.  “Yeah, I guess I did.  You probably need them more.  I bet you aren’t used to this weather.”

“I haven’t lived in California my whole life,” Castiel says.  “I grew up in New York, so I’m no stranger to the cold.”

“It’s a little different in the mountains.”  Dean starts tugging at Castiel’s coat - a much thicker one than the trenchcoat he’d been wearing when Dean first met him - and scarf until Castiel allows him to remove them.  “It’s not just cold weather here, it’s multiple feet of snow and having to dig a doorway through it so you can get outside and dig more paths through it.”

Castiel pulls off his beanie while Dean turns away to hang up the coat and scarf on some hooks near the door.  He’s twisting it between his hands when Dean faces him again.  “Living in the cold I’m familiar with.  Driving in the snow is different.  I didn’t drive much in New York.”

“You’ll be fine with some chains on your tires.”  Dean holds his hand out for the beanie, and Castiel passes it over to him.  He remembers Castiel’s request earlier that day, and hangs the hat up so his hands are free to sign his next words.  “I can teach you how to put them on, and how to be careful in the snow.”

Castiel’s eyes had dropped to his hands, but he looks up again and his face scrunches up with uncertainty.  “I’m not sure I want to try in my car.  It’s not exactly the type of vehicle that can get through the kind of snow you’re talking about.  Even with snow tires and chains.”

He’s got a point.  Most residents of Silverton drive trucks or jeeps for a very good reason.  Gas mileage can be a bitch, especially going up and down all the hills, but when it comes to getting around in the winter the cost of gas is worth not getting stuck out in a blizzard.  

“Hang onto the jeep for now,” Dean says, still signing his words.  Castiel’s attention is fully on his hands again, and Dean can see the intelligence behind his eyes as he tries to connect the motions with the words.  “Bobby won’t mind.  And if he does, I’ll talk him around.”

Castiel smiles, relieved.  “Thank you, Dean.  Although, I’d still like to learn how to put chains on the tires.”

Dean chuckles.  “I’ll teach you later.  You hungry?”

Eyes twinkling, Castiel signs _“Starved.”_

“I can fix that.” Dean grins and wraps an arm around Castiel’s shoulders before leading him to the kitchen.  He’s got everything ready, with just the hamburger patties waiting to be fried up so they’ll be hot and fresh when he serves them.  “I hope you don't mind burgers instead of something fancy.”

“I _love_ burgers.”  Castiel eyes the array of sliced vegetables and condiments and other toppings laid out on the table while Dean heads to the fridge to pull out the meat.  “They’re my favorite.”

“I remember.”  Dean winks at Castiel over his shoulder as he turns on the stove and puts a cast iron skillet over the burner.

They talk about their work while Dean cooks.  Dean doesn't have much to tell since he'd been distracted most of the day, but Castiel has several stories.  The residents of Silverton are becoming accustomed to his presence, and are chatting with him now.  And apparently word that he's willing to babysit has already gotten around and he's received a few side job offers.

"Are you going to do it?"  Dean can't sign because he's cooking, and he relishes being able to communicate while his hands are full.  Normally he can only do this with Sam, and because his brother is usually busy running a business and being a husband, they don't get as much alone time as they used to.  He misses it, but he doesn't resent it.  He's happy that Sam's happy.  And Dean's more accustomed to sign language anyway.

Castiel shrugs, face scrunched up with confusion.  "I'm not sure?  I don't have any experience so I don't know if I should."

"You did okay with Tanya."

"Only because of YouTube, and your help."

Dean snorts a laugh and dips his head to acknowledge Castiel's argument.

They lapse into silence for a moment and Dean flips the burgers one more time before adding cheese.  He puts the lid on the pan and turns the burner off, and turns to face Castiel so he can sign while he waits for the cheese to melt.  "You seem to be pretty popular for a new guy."

Castiel shrugs and leans back in his chair.  His scent permeates the air despite the smell of food trying to overpower it, and it sours slightly.  "I wish I wasn't."

“That attitude is no way to make friends, Cas,” Dean teases as he plates the greasy, cheesy meat and brings it to the table.  

“I’d rather not be Zachariah's friend,” Castiel grouches as he starts piling lettuce and tomato and pickles onto a bun.  “He comes in nearly daily, and he invites me to church every time.  Even though I’ve declined repeatedly.”

Dean takes the seat closest to Castiel and starts putting together his own burger.  He bypasses most of the vegetables but adds extra onions and bacon.  He isn’t worried about Castiel not wanting to kiss him with onion breath.  They both got pretty gross while spending their cycle together.  If Castiel can handle his nasty morning breath, he can handle onion breath.  And if not, well maybe Dean will reevaluate how much he actually likes the alpha.

Castiel also adds extra onions to his burger, though.  Which is all kinds of awesome.  

"He'll probably back off if he realizes you're dating me," Dean says.  "He doesn't like me."

Castiel pauses in building his burger and gives Dean a curious look.  "How did you manage that?"

Dean grins.  "I threatened to bite him.  And not in the sexy way."

"Interesting," Castiel murmurs.  Then his eyes light up with mischief.  "How does one go about getting you to bite them in the sexy way?"

Dean gestures at Castiel's plate.  "You can start by telling me how much you love my cooking."

He watches closely as Castiel picks up his overloaded burger and sinks his teeth into it.  Castiel's deep moan of pleasure is reminiscent of the sounds he makes during sex, and suddenly Dean's mind is in the gutter and his jeans are uncomfortably tight. And if Castiel keeps making those kind of noises, Dean's jeans are going to be soaked with slick as well.  "Yeah," he mutters gruffly.  "That works."

Castiel's cheeks are puffed out like a chipmunk while he chews, but his smile shines from his eyes.  Dean looks away so he can resist tackling the guy and eats his own burger.  

After dinner - which Castiel _loves_ enough to eat three fat burgers - they clean up together.  Dean protests that Castiel is his guest, but Cas just ignores him and asks where the plastic wrap is so he can put away the leftovers.  Dean gives in because he knows alpha stubbornness when he sees it.

They grab some sodas and relocate to the library where Dean uncovers the tv and the xbox and fires up Netflix.  Since Castiel fell asleep the last time they watched it, he starts The Incredible Hulk over from the beginning and settles down on the couch next to the alpha.

They curl into each other, Castiel tucked under Dean’s arm and half leaning on his chest.  Dean isn’t really interested in the movie, but Castiel’s attention is glued to it.  Dean’s mind wanders, although most of his thoughts are centered around the alpha cuddled up to his side.  Once again, there’s a looming sense of domesticity which Dean relishes.  

It’s not much of a date, eating home cooked burgers and watching Marvel movies.  It’s probably far below Castiel’s normal standards.  Because come on… the guy grew up in New York, with a silver spoon in his mouth.  His dates probably happened in fancy restaurants that served itty bitty artsy portions for a hundred dollars a plate, with thousand dollar bottles of wine instead of canned Barq’s rootbeer.  Instead of Netflix movies they probably went to Broadway musicals or ballets.  

Yet here he is, in a t-shirt and soft jeans instead of a crisp button down and slacks, socked feet up on the arm of Bobby’s ratty old couch with too many broken springs under the cushions, washing away his onion breath with cold rootbeer.  Smelling almost like an apple pie and so fucking content that Dean’s surprised he’s not purring yet.  Like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Castiel murmurs.  

“Side effect of being silent all the time, I guess,” Dean snarks back.  

Castiel shifts his head enough that he can look at Dean.  “Is it really?”

Either he didn’t notice Dean’s sarcasm, or he’s ignoring it.  His question is genuinely curious, and Dean responds with honesty instead of more snark.  “I dunno.  Maybe.  Bobby calls it brooding.”

“Brooding would indicate that you’re unhappy, but that’s not how you smell?”

Dean lifts a brow.  “How do I smell?”

Castiel scents the air, and his eyes droop half-closed.  “Luscious.”

“Wow, ‘luscious’?” Dean teases.  “Fancy word there, Cas.”

“It’s the most appropriate word I know in English.”

The movie is just noise in the background now.  Dean’s seen it several times, and sating his curiosity about Castiel seems far more important now.  “Oh yeah?  Do you know other languages?”

“Several.”  Castiel holds up the hand not curled around his soda and holds up a finger for each language he lists.  “English, French, Spanish, Russian - although it’s been a while and I’m not sure I’d consider myself fluent anymore without a little practice.  I know enough Japanese to get by, and I would very much like to brush up my Mandarin and Cantonese as well.”

“You ran out of fingers, dude.”  

Castiel spells out his answer in sign language _“y-e-s i d-i-d.”_

“You really speak all those languages?” Dean asks, awed.  It doesn’t occur to him that learning ASL is pretty impressive too because he was a kid when he picked it up.  He barely remembers learning it.

“I enjoy learning languages.” Castiel shrugs as if it’s not a big deal.  “And it’s something my older brothers allowed because it was useful.”

Dean bristles over the idea that Castiel was only _allowed_ to enjoy things.  “Your brothers are dicks.”

“Most of them are, yes.  Gabriel wasn’t so bad.”

Castiel’s scent changes, the content fading into something sad and melancholy.  The cinnamon fades, and the cedar increases, but it smells off.  Like the wood has been singed by fire.  Dean wants to kick himself for bringing up bitter memories for both of them, so he changes the subject back to languages.

“Say something to me in French.”

That pulls Castiel’s attention away from whatever dark things he was thinking about.  He thinks for a moment, then smiles.  “Tu es très beau.”

“What does that mean?”

“I said ‘you are very handsome’.”

Dean blushes and glances back at the tv for a moment.  He barely registers what’s going on, it’s just colors - mostly green - flashing in front of his eyes so it’s probably an action sequence.  “Thanks,” he mutters.

Castiel sits up and sets his soda on the end table before turning his body towards Dean.  He cups Dean’s chin to bring his attention back.  “Te quiero.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I want you.”

Dean’s heartbeat is a loud thumping in his ears.  “Yeah?”

Castiel nods and leans close, but stops just short of touching their lips together.  “Kisushite.”  Before Dean can ask, he translates.  “Kiss me.”  


That’s one request Dean isn’t going to turn down.  He closes the gap between them and Castiel meets him with greedy lips.  They nip and suck at each other, moving from mouths to jaws to necks.  Castiel kisses a searing path to Dean’s ear and sucks at the lobe before pinching it lightly between his teeth.  He let’s it slide free, and then whispers “Трахни меня.”

Russian sounds fucking sinful in Castiel’s low growling voice, and Dean whimpers in response.  He wants to ask what Castiel said, but he’s lost his voice, this time because he can’t fucking remember words.  Castiel’s hands are not helping his concentration.  They’re slipping under Dean’s henley and heating the skin underneath.  He gasps when Castiel tweaks one of his nipples, and it swells up under the touch.  

The scent of slick fills the air, and Dean finds his words again.  “Cas… we should…” he gasps again when Castiel bites him right below the ear, fangs digging deep against the skin and sending sparks of pain and pleasure straight to the center of Dean’s brain.  It takes him a moment to recollect himself enough to finish his sentence.  “Upstairs.  Condoms.”

It’s not much of a sentence, but it gets his point across.  Suddenly Dean is being pulled upright and out of the room towards the stairs.  He doesn’t even care that the movie is still playing in the library.  They’ll probably have to skip the Hulk in the Marvel universe, because they may never be able to get through it.

Without even asking for directions, Castiel drags Dean to his room, so he was either paying close attention when he stayed there before, or he followed his nose.  Either way, Dean is just glad that he doesn’t have to use too much brainpower to give Castiel directions.  His higher brain functions are shutting down, and all that’s left is a mental chant _yes, yes, fuck, mate, bite, yes._

They stumble to the bed, hands tugging at each other’s clothing, leaving a trail of shoes and socks, t-shirts and jeans.  Castiel pushes Dean down onto the bed so hard, he’d bounce if it was a spring mattress instead of memory foam.  The show of dominance makes him arch his head back and expose his neck in invitation.  Castiel accepts, locking his lips over Dean’s pulse and suckling until he can feel a bruise raising up under the skin.

He whines and pulls at Castiel, trying to get the alpha to settle between his legs.  But Castiel has apparently decided he’s taking control of the situation because he resists.  He stays braced on his hands and knees over Dean’s body, denying him the heat of skin against skin.  But he makes up for it with his mouth.  Once he’s left his first mark, he moves lower, latching onto one of Dean’s nipples and teasing it between lips and teeth.  

Dean’s hips buck up, trying to get some kind of friction against his aching dick, but he’s frustrated when Castiel plants a palm on his belly and holds him down.  At least until that hand slides lower, slipping under Dean’s boxers and wrapping around his dick.  

Yes, that’s much better, he likes that, thank you, alpha.  He’s say so, but Castiel kisses him again and he’s too busy enjoying the alpha’s fresh apple flavor through the onion still clinging to his breath.  And signing is right out of the question since his own hands are exploring every inch of Castiel’s exposed skin.  

He rolls his hips into each stroke of Castiel’s palm, and even if it’s a little too dry to really enjoy the slide of skin, the hot pressure of Castiel’s grip is fucking magical.  But then it’s gone and he makes a noise of protest in the back of his throat.  That cuts off when Castiel’s hand moves lower, rolling his balls between his fingers and squeezing gently before going further and dipping into Dean’s slick.  Two fingers breach him and he gasps and arches and spreads his legs to give Castiel better access.

Castiel lifts his head, and Dean’s eyes are drawn to his.  Confusion skitters over the surface of Dean’s arousal because Castiel looks nervous.  

“Dean.” Castiel licks his bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth, and hesitating over his next words.  He glances away, then back, then away again.  Despite whatever is going on in his head, he’s still fucking his fingers in and out of Dean’s ass, brushing over his prostate every second or third pass.

Dean remains silent, rocking his hips into Castiel’s touch.  He stares up at his alpha, holding his gaze and waiting to hear whatever it is he has to say.

“Dean,” Castiel says again, voice stronger than before.  “Will you… fuck me?”

The question shocks Dean into stillness.  He’s perfectly happy with switching.  As a male omega, he loves _all_ the positions.  But he’s never encountered a male alpha that wasn’t a hundred and ten percent toppy as fuck.  “Really?”

“I know it’s unusual, but-”

“Dude, it’s hot as fuck.”

Castiel blinks and he pauses fingerfucking Dean.  “Really?” he parrots.

“Hell yeah.”  Dean raises himself up on his elbows and nuzzles Castiel’s bearded jaw.  “I’ll fuck you, Cas.”

Castiel’s fingers start to pump into him again, and Dean’s breath shudders out in a sigh.  He’s slightly disappointed that Castiel isn’t going to knot him, but only briefly.  The lure of burying his dick inside Castiel’s tight heat is something he can’t ignore.

Now that he’s got Dean’s buy in, Castiel’s shyness melts away.  He sits back on his haunches and uses his free hand to pull at Dean’s boxers.  He doesn’t stop fucking Dean with his fingers, so Dean helps by pushing the waistband down over his hips and wriggling his hips and legs - careful not to dislodge Castiel’s hand between his thighs - and kicks them free.  

He expects Castiel to remove his own underwear too so that he can be prepped, but he ducks down and sucks the head of Dean’s dick between his lips instead.  Dean hisses and fists Castiel’s hair, torn between pulling him off so things don’t end too soon, and shoving him down and choking him as punishment for pushing him so close to the edge before the main event.  He resists both impulses only because they cancel each other out.  

Thankfully, Castiel stops before Dean hits his event horizon, pulling off with a pop at the same time he pulls his fingers free and finally gets with the naked game and removes his boxer-briefs.  He straddles Dean’s thighs and reaches between his own.  Dean can’t see what he’s doing from this angle, but based on the low noise he makes and the way his eyes drop shut, he can extrapolate.  Castiel is fingering himself, using Dean’s slick for lube.  And while that’s really fucking hot, Dean is jealous.  

“Whoa whoa,” Dean protests.  “You don’t get all the fun.”

Castiel’s eyes pop open and he tilts his head in confusion.  

With a heave, Dean reverses their positions.  He reaches between his legs and scoops up as much slick as he can and then nudges Castiel’s hand out of the way.  He’s careful, gentle as he opens Castiel up with his fingers.  Until Castiel growls at him that he’s not a delicate fucking flower and to give him more, which really shouldn’t be cute because an angry alpha is not a creature to take lightly, but Dean grins because Castiel looks completely wrecked and in no condition to fight.  His hair is sticking up in all different directions, mussed from Dean’s fingers running through it.  His cheeks are flushed and his lips are bitten red.  His fingers are fisted in Dean’s blankets, and his whole body is squirming, his legs juddering every time Dean presses against his prostate.  His dick is hard and leaking against his belly, the knot swelling as Dean watches.

Watching Castiel pop a knot from being fingered is all kinds of sexy, and the image will probably hold a place of honor in Dean’s spank bank for many years to come.

“Dean.”  It’s a low, commanding growl, and there’s so much _alpha_ in Castiel’s voice that Dean knows he’s reached the absolute edge of Castiel’s limits for teasing.  

If he doesn’t fuck Castiel now, Castiel is going to take over.

Which is tempting, but Dean isn’t in the mood to hand over the reins this time.  He grins at Castiel’s protesting growl when he removes his fingers.  And when Castiel springs up from the bed to make a grab for him, Dean’s ready.  He counters, breaking Castiel’s grip and wrestling him over onto his belly.  Before Castiel can recover from the surprise, Dean reaches between his legs to coat his hand in slick one more time before using it to coat his own dick.  Castiel’s muscles bunch in preparation to move, but Dean drops his weight on Castiel’s back.

“You wanted to be fucked, Alpha,” he murmurs against Castiel’s ear.  “So relax, and let me take care of you.”

The words don’t sink in right away because he can feel Castiel’s body rebelling against being held down, but then his muscles relax and instead he’s pushing his hips up, grinding his ass against Dean’s dick.  Dean feels like he’s about to burst before he can even line himself up, but then he’s sinking inside Castiel’s heat and it’s fucking amazing.

Castiel is making noises that are half growl, half whine, and his scent is thick and heady, and Dean starts moving on instinct alone.  He rocks into Castiel over and over until it’s not enough, and he needs to be deeper for both of their sakes.  Gripping Castiel’s hips and pulling him along, Dean rears back and sits on his haunches.  He pulls out in the process, but immediately guides his dick back to Castiel’s hole and pulls Castiel down onto his lap.  

The alpha throws his head back on Dean’s shoulder and reaches behind him with one hand to dig his fingers into Dean’s scalp.  The other hand flails at Dean’s flank until Dean grabs it and guides it to Castiel’s knot, squeezing his own hand around it and relishing Castiel’s gasping cries.  He thrusts into Castiel deep and hard, even as he buries his face against Castiel’s throat and bites him.  Not hard enough to break the skin, but the threat is there.

Castiel’s knot pulses under their combined grip and then he yells out as he comes.  Hot come slides down over their tangled fingers, slicking their grip and Dean guides Castiel’s hand to start stroking, up over the head and back down the shaft, just short of the knot, rinse and repeat until Castiel is squirming and writhing on Dean’s dick.  And that’s what brings Dean over the edge with him.  His body locks up and he spills inside Castiel’s heat, growling as his jaw clenches tighter.

His muscles relax in stages, first his fingers go limp, then his arms.  He feels Castiel sag without Dean’s strength to support him, but he’s still held in place by Dean’s teeth.  If he doesn’t let go now, he’s going to go too far.  It takes mental effort to unclench his jaw, but he wills his teeth open.

Castiel slumps forward, falling first to his hands and knees and the last connection between their bodies is broken when the motion pulls Dean free.  Then he plops down on his side and stares up at Dean with glazed eyes, his ribs expanding and contracting as he tries to catch his breath.

Dean stares back.  He wonders when the fact that he nearly claimed Castiel as his mate will sink in enough for him to panic.  He waits for it, but it doesn’t come.  Instead, he’s filled with post-orgasmic lethargy, and he just wants to lie down next to his alpha and cuddle into his chest and scent him until he falls asleep.  But there’s a puddle of alpha come soaking into the blankets, plus the slick that’s leaking down his thighs and pooling beneath him.  

“Shoulda put down a towel,” he mutters.  Remembering his promise to Castiel to sign as much as possible he forces his tired limbs through the motions.  

A weak chuckle shakes Castiel’s body.  He squirms to the side, making room for Dean to lie down on the dry space next to him.  He grimaces and wiggles his hips.  “Is this what it feels like to be an omega?”

Oh shit, they forgot the condom.  Oh well, at least Castiel isn’t at risk of pregnancy.  Dean takes the invitation and curls into Castiel, scooting as close as possible to avoid the wet spots in the blanket.  “Sorry for the cream-pie, dude.” Then he chuckles.  “Mmm pie.”

“You’re disgusting.”  But there’s laughter lurking behind Castiel’s words and Dean knows from the woody apple and cinnamon scent leaking from his pores that he’s not put off in the least by Dean’s dirty mind.

They lapse into sleepy silence interrupted only by the occasional rattle of the window under a particularly strong gust of wind.  Dean knows Bobby said he’d be home, but he hopes that if the weather gets nasty he’ll stay in town.  Hopefully in Jody’s bed, because Dean may tease the old geezer, but he’s really fucking thrilled for Bobby.  

Castiel’s hand rests over Dean’s neck, and his thumb brushes back and forth over the mark he’d sucked into Dean’s skin.  “I’m sorry I marked you.”

Dean refrains from pointing out that he nearly went further than a hickey.  “Doesn’t bother me, Cas.”  And it doesn’t.  The slight ache as the weight of Castiel’s thumb passes over it sends little thrills of pleasure through him.  

He’s starting to fall asleep when he remembers that they never turned off the tv.  And that reminds him of what led them upstairs in the first place.  “Hey, Cas?”

“Hm?”

“What was that Russian thing you said earlier?”

Castiel’s chest rumbles with a soft laugh.  “I said ‘fuck me’.”

“That’s hot, man.  Not gonna lie.”

“The Russian, or the phrase?”

“Both.” Dean grins against Castiel’s chest and nips at the skin there.  “Also the fact that you like to be fucked.”

“Thank you for indulging me.”

Dean snorts at Castiel’s politeness.  “Anytime, Cas.  Just say the word.”

“Should I continue to use Russian, or do you have a preference?”

“Whatever language you want.  Hell, I’ll teach you how to sign it.”

Castiel laughs again, and it fades away into a contented purr.  Dean lets it lull him to sleep, his own purr rising up to harmonize with Castiel’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know any languages except for a little bit of Spanish, so I used Google translate for most of it. If I got the phrases wrong, I apologize.


	15. Chapter 15

Castiel opens his eyes and looks at the bright blue numbers on the bedside clock and wonders why he’s awake at six o’clock in the morning on New Year’s Day.  He stretches and winces at the protest of his exhausted muscles, but it's easy to dismiss that minor discomfort when Dean's arm tightens around his waist and pulls him against the furnace of his body.  He allows Dean to cuddle him even though it's uncomfortably hot.  He has nowhere else to be, and even though his own rut ended several hours before, Dean's heat hasn't wound down yet.  This is the third cycle they've spent together and Castiel has learned that even when they're both too tired to have sex, Dean's body needs physical contact.

He needs a little relief from the warmth radiating from Dean's body though, so he wiggles until he's rolled over to face Dean.  The sweat on his bare back and thighs immediately cools when exposed to the air, and he shivers at the abrupt change.

Without opening his eyes, Dean murmurs "You cold?"

Of course he does.  If Castiel has learned nothing else about Dean in the last few months, he's figured out that Dean is a caretaker.  Castiel runs his nose over Dean's stubbled cheek, unable and unwilling to hold back his affection for the omega.

When he was young, Castiel didn't dream about what his future would be like.  Even before his mother died, Castiel's brothers were planning his life for him.  His education, his career.  Mates were brought up on occasion, but that was the one part of his life that Castiel put his foot down about.  He would only mate someone of his own choice, and thankfully Gabriel backed him up on that one or it might have turned into a more serious point of contention.  

But even though he'd been given permission to choose his mate, he'd made no effort to find one.  He'd never been able to escape the fear that people wanted him for his fortune or his family's power.  And he'd never met anyone that made him think of the long term.

Dean, though.  Beautiful Dean with his grumpy facade and his loving heart, his grease stained fingers and his fastidious habits, his sweet smile, his gentle hands, and the strength and violence slumbering underneath.  Dean makes Castiel dream.

One green eye opens and focuses on him. "Cas?"

Castiel continues nuzzling Dean, letting his buttery scent, now tinged with the same sharp cinnamon that Castiel had recently noticed in his own pheromones, sink into him.  "Hm?"

"Are you cold?"

"No."  Dean is radiating enough heat that Castiel is tempted to open the window.  His temporary chill is definitely gone.  "Are you alright?  Do you need anything?"

Dean closes his eye again and shakes his head on the pillow.  His breathing evens out, and he's sound asleep again with seconds.  

Castiel is glad he's resting.  Dean has a tendency to work himself hard, and according to Sam he usually only rests through the peak of his heats.  He'd thanked Castiel for getting Dean to take a little more time to himself.  Which Castiel had found amusing because in his old life he'd been just as bad as Dean about working through most of his rut, and not taking as good care of himself as he should have.  He'd had deadlines to meet, unlike Dean who always worries about not being available to people, and especially Bobby, when he might be needed.

Settling in Silverton has changed a lot for Castiel, and not just his rut habits.  For the first time in his life he feels like his own person instead of a cog in the Novak machine.  He has a job that, while simple, is fulfilling because he feels like he makes a real difference.  He's made new friends, including Sam after he saw that Castiel and Dean slid seamlessly into each other's lives.  But he also regularly spends his evenings chatting with Eileen and her aunt Mildred, and he accepts invitations to dinner with the Fitzgeralds, and he’s even spent afternoons unwinding with a beer and chit-chat with Nora after they’ve closed up the shop in the evening.  There’s also Bobby and Jody, and her adopted girls Alex and Claire who roll their eyes and whisper together away from the grownups, but who seem to find Castiel funny.  He doesn’t really want to know why.  He’s sure it’s something embarrassing.

And he has Dean.

But what they have together has moved far past friendship.  He’s not sure exactly how to define it though.  Lovers?  Most assuredly.  But they’re also friends, spending time together whenever possible.  Sometimes Dean has so much to say, and they’ll talk and talk, with or without their voices since Castiel is picking up ASL at a fairly quick rate.  Sometimes they just enjoy each other’s company without the need for words.  Dean seems to enjoy the fact that Castiel doesn’t expect him to communicate constantly, and Castiel loves that as well.  

There’s a lot to love about Dean.  He could make a never ending list.  And that, above all else, is why he doesn’t ever want to leave Silverton.  Why he wants to make his home and his life here permanent.

He wiggles an arm free and brushes his fingertips over the freckles scattered along Dean's cheeks and nose.  The touch doesn't wake Dean, but it triggers his rumbling purr, which Castiel is just as addicted to as he is to Dean's pheromones.

He wonders what Dean thinks of the changes in their scents.  Castiel noticed the bite of cinnamon shortly after the first cycle they'd spent together back in October, but he'd said nothing.  He wasn't sure it was strong enough for anyone else to notice, and he kept waiting for it to fade.  It's only solidified since then, and any Were would recognize what it means.

The only thing between them and a full mating bond is the lack of blood transfer, and as he watches Dean's peacefully sleeping features he wonders if it will happen.  They both have teeth shaped bruises, physical proof that they both want it.

Castiel isn't sure what Dean is waiting for, but for him there's still a lingering sense that he doesn't deserve the beautiful omega.  It's only the last few months that he hasn't been Castiel Novak, and he's not sure that it's enough to distance himself from that life.  He doesn't miss it in the slightest, but it's still there out in the larger world.  His brothers won't forget, and he can't either.  Not if he wants to stay safe.

Not if he wants to keep the new people in his life safe.

Dean's brow furrows.  "You're thinking very loud."

Castiel chuckles and kisses Dean on the tip of his nose.  "I thought you were sleeping."

"That can't be the only thing you're thinking."  Dean opens his eyes, and his purr tapers off.  Castiel immediately misses it.  "What's wrong, Cas?"

He could deny that there's anything wrong, but Dean would sense it, no matter how good his poker face is.  He sighs.  "I was thinking about my brothers."

Dean wrinkles his nose and makes a sound of disgust in the back of his throat.  "Why?"

"Sometimes I worry that they'll find me, and this-" he runs his fingers through Dean's greasy hair, "-will all come to an end."

"I'm not afraid of your brothers," Dean scoffs even as he tilts his head into Castiel's touch. "And you shouldn't be either."

Castiel believes Dean, and his confidence restores Castiel's own.  The community here is strong, and since they've gotten to know him, they've adopted him as one of their own.  They don't know the details of his past, but it's gotten out -thanks to Garth's propensity for gossip- that he's a fugitive from something.  That's something the people of Silverton understand.  They may change their minds if they learn his true identity, but if the Winchesters can forgive him for his family's sins, then he had hope that others will as well.

"They're just a bunch of dicks anyway,"  Dean murmurs.  

Like that makes them less dangerous.  But Dean's dismissive attitude makes Castiel laugh.  "Yes, that's true.  Although Gabriel isn't bad."

"He's involved with slave trafficking.  He's a dick."

Castiel's smile is replaced with a thoughtful frown.  "I don't think he is, though."

His words make Dean stop rubbing himself against Castiel's fingers, and he pins Castiel with an incredulous glare.  "You're defending him?"

"I'm not saying he wasn't involved in something shady," Castiel says.  "But I never found a connection between the money he was siphoning away from the company and Lucifer’s cult."

Whatever Gabriel was doing with it, he hid his tracks _very_ well.  It had taken some serious digging to find any hints of wrongdoing at all.  Michael and Raphael had hidden their tracks, and Castiel doubts most auditors would have found it.  Castiel had stumbled across it, and nearly passed up looking into it.  But when he'd made an effort, the trail had been easy for him to follow. Probably because he had more access to information just by virtue of his name.  

But Gabriel?  Whatever he had been doing is still a complete mystery to Castiel.  It would be easy to assume he was involved with Lucifer's cult as well.  But Castiel can't reconcile his knowledge if Gabriel with that.  Michael and Lucifer? Absolutely.  As twins, they share everything, to a creepy degree.  Michael is just better at showing the cool and professional facade to the outside world.  And Raphael worships Michael; he does anything and everything Michael asks.  

Gabriel always kept himself separated from the eldest three's schemes.  The only thing that makes Castiel wonder about his involvement is how much he always adored Lucifer.  But after Lucifer left the family, Gabriel acted like he didn’t even exist anymore.  To the point where he would change the subject if Lucifer was brought up in conversation.  Castiel has never understood why, although in hindsight he wonders if they had some kind of falling out.

"Well, whatever."  Dean pulls Castiel close and buries his face against Castiel's throat.  His next words are muffled.  "Doesn't matter as long as he doesn't pick up where the others left off."

The others are in prison, and aren't likely to get out any time soon.  Their trials are still going on because they hired some ridiculously expensive lawyers, but Castiel is confident that the information he provided will keep them where they are.  And if not... Well, he's ruined their names and reputations.  They'll be mistrusted forever.

Dean whines in the back of his throat.  " _Why_ are we talking about your brothers, Cas?"  

"You wanted to know what I was thinking about."

"I regret asking."

He sounds like a petulant toddler, and Castiel grins.  "We can talk about something else if you want."

"Mmf."

Or not.  Castiel goes back to grooming Dean's hair.  They are both in desperate need of a bath.  They stink, and their skin is coated with multiple bodily fluids that are starting to itch.  "Do you feel up to taking a bath?"

"Mmf."  

Definitely a petulant toddler.  "I'm going to go fill up the tub, okay?"

Dean's arms tighten around him, and for a moment Castiel thinks he's going to be held there until Dean falls back to sleep.  But his grip loosens, and Castiel kisses him on the forehead before rolling out of the bed.  

It no longer takes him a few minutes to reorient himself like it did the first few days after he’d moved from his own room to Dean’s.  Everything is set up the opposite of Castiel’s old room, and that threw him off at first.  

Not as much as Dean’s request to move into his room did.  But Sam needed another room for an unexpected guest near the beginning of December, and Castiel couldn’t argue with Dean’s explanation that it made more sense for Castiel to use his room since he’s not using it himself.  They’re not actually living together, since Dean still spends the majority of his time at Bobby’s house, but Castiel is keenly aware that he’s living in Dean’s space, and the room layout is a daily reminder.

Castiel’s old room is uninhabited at the moment, but he still makes sure the connecting door in the bathroom is locked before he turns on the water and bends down to plug the drain.  He groans when he straightens, and thinks that humans wouldn’t romanticize the Were mating cycle if they could ever experience the sore muscles and joint pain that comes with it.  Then again, it didn’t used to be this bad for him when he was younger.  He’s only thirty-six, but at the moment he feels ancient.

But _then again,_ he’s never spent his ruts with an omega before.  He’s always been the one to wear out his sex partners, if he was comfortable enough to share his cycle with them.  But now Dean exhausts him.  When he goes back into the bedroom to fetch Dean, he takes great pleasure in the fact that Dean is just as run down as he feels.  

Dean’s eyes peel open slowly when Castiel gently shakes his shoulder.  He looks utterly confused, which is only emphasized when he speaks.  “Why’re you up?  Come back t’bed.”

Castiel dodges Dean’s clumsy attempts to grab him and drag him back down on the mattress, and gently grasps his wrist and tugs him toward the edge of the bed.  “Come on, let’s get in the tub.”

The whine of denial he receives makes him chuckle, but he doesn’t give up.  He knows Dean will feel better when he’s clean.  Plus, if Castiel is sore then Dean must be doubly so since his cycle hasn’t started to wind down yet.  After several minutes of coaxing while he worries that the tub will overfill by the time they get there, Dean finally relents and lets Castiel help him out of the bed.  He leans heavily on Castiel during the short walk to the bathroom, but he perks up as soon as he sees the tub, which is thankfully only about half full and ready for the two of them.

Castiel guides Dean into the tub first, helping him keep his balance as he sits down in the water.

“Dude, isn’t this going to be too cold for you?” Dean asks as he leans forward so Castiel can get into the tub behind him.

The water is cooler than Castiel normally prefers, but he doesn’t want Dean’s body to overheat.  “I’ll be fine.  It’ll warm up with you in here.”

“Uh huh,” Dean grunts as he leans back into Castiel’s chest.  “If you start shivering, I’ll know you’re lying.”

“It’s not that cold.”  And Dean’s body is almost too warm against him, so Castiel appreciates the lukewarm water.

He grabs a sponge and starts running it over the Dean’s chest and arms, up his neck and along his cheeks.  Dean tilts his head forward enough for Castiel to wring the sponge out over his head.  He needs a good scrub with shampoo, but Castiel will get to that when Dean’s body has cooled down a little.  For now, he just enjoys touching the omega, and listening to the pleased grunts and sighs as he brushes the layers of sweat and semen and slick away with the sponge.

The water does pick up some of Dean’s body heat after a few minutes, and he starts to squirm against Castiel’s chest.  “Cas… buddy, that feels nice, but you gotta stop.”

Castiel’s hand pauses.  “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just…” Dean makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat.  “Just horny.”

With the hand not holding the sponge, Castiel reaches between Dean’s legs.  “We’re in the perfect position to take care of that.”

Dean bats his hand away just as Castiel’s fingers brush his dick, making water splash precariously at the edges of the tub.  “No.”

Going completely still, Castiel scents the air, afraid the buttery scent will go rancid with Dean’s anger.  “I’m sorry, Dean, I-”

“It’s okay, Cas.”  Dean pats Castiel’s shin under the water, and rests his hand there, thumb brushing through Castiel’s leg hair.  “I’m just fuckin’ exhausted and I’m ready for my heat to be over, but I’m also feeling a bit sore, y’know?”

His words, and the sweet buttery scent of happy omega sooth Castiel, and he relaxes.  He drops the sponge in the water and goes to put his hands on the side of the tub so he won’t agitate Dean.  But Dean is having none of that, either.  He grabs Castiel’s wrists and brings his arms around his waist, then twines their fingers together.  

“Just hold me, Cas.  It’ll go away.”

Castiel does as he’s told, letting Dean use him as a pillow.  He nuzzles his nose against the short soft hairs at Dean’s nape and inhales his scent.  During his heat the bite of cinnamon is even stronger, and it takes quite a bit of willpower not to sink his teeth into the flesh there and see if Dean tastes as good as he smells.  “Is this okay?” he murmurs.

Dean answers with a nod, and his body goes lax.  The room is completely silent other than the occasional drip from the faucet, and the gentle lapping of water against the sides of the tub if one of them shifts slightly.  The water gets warmer as Dean’s body heats up, preparing for another peak of hormones.

“Fuck,” Dean grunts after a while.  He drops his head back against Castiel’s shoulder and turns enough to make eye contact.  His face is flushed, and he looks miserable.  “Can we add some cold water?  I’m roasting.”  When Castiel nods his agreement, Dean lifts a leg out of the water, and turns the knob with his toes.  He leaves it at just a small trickle so that if the water level gets too high it’ll escape out of the drain near the top edge of the tub.  Then he shoves his foot right under the flow, sighing in relief.  

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Castiel asks, frowning.  Dean doesn’t smell distressed or ill, but the heat is rolling off him in waves, and Castiel can tell he’s sweating, even while most of his body is submerged in water.  “We’ve only done this a few times, but it didn’t seem like your last two cycles were this rough on you.”

Shifting so that he can lower his foot and raise the other one up under the cool stream from the faucet, Dean grunts.  “I’m fine, Cas, really.  Although I’m beginning to wonder if there’s something to that old wive’s tale about omegas needing alpha jizz to soothe their heat.”

The thought of being inside Dean without the thin layer of latex between them makes all the blood drain from Castiel’s head and redirect to his dick.  It goes hard, nudging up against Dean’s lower back firmly enough to get the omega’s attention.  He laughs, and drops his head back on Castiel’s shoulder.  They have to crane their necks at an uncomfortable angle, but Castiel looks into Dean’s eyes, searching for signs of whether he’s serious or not.

The sparkle in his green eyes indicates he’s teasing, and he wiggles his hips against Castiel’s growing erection.  “Like that idea, huh, Cas?”  When Castiel just does his best imitation of a fish on land, mouth opening and closing on repeat, Dean laughs.  “Sorry, I shouldn’t get you all excited like that.”

Castiel has to clear his throat a few times before he can trust his voice.  “It’s alright, I’ll survive.”

“You sure?  I can take care of that for you.”  

When Dean starts to move like he’s going to turn around, Castiel tightens his arms and holds him in place.  “Really, Dean.  I’ll be fine.  Just relax and let yourself cool down.”

Dean does as he’s told, although he chuckles when Castiel hisses at the friction between their bodies.  “You know, human men are lucky.  They don’t have to worry about pregnancy.”

“True, but they have to worry about catching diseases,” Castiel points out.  

“Yeah, that’s gotta suck.”

They lapse into silence for a few minutes, and Castiel’s heart rate starts to slow down.  The cool water soothes his erection away, although Dean is still too warm to the touch.

But his thoughts still circle around Dean’s words.  Not because the idea of unprotected sex is arousing, although it definitely is.  They’ve had unprotected sex when Dean is topping, since there’s no risk of pregnancy, and Castiel has never really thought too hard about it.  Now though, he wonders what it would be like to have sex with the goal of having children.  To see Dean’s belly swell with their child.  

Even though Dean still has their fingers laced together, Castiel lowers them over Dean’s belly until both of their hands are cupped over his womb.  

“Whatcha thinkin’, Cas?” Dean asks in a low voice.

“Would you…” Castiel pauses and licks his lips, nervous to voice his thoughts out loud.  “Have you ever considered having children?”

Dean is quiet for a long time, and his scent changes.  It doesn’t quite go sour, but it smells off.  Not angry, not upset, but not happy either.  Castiel is about to tell him nevermind, that it’s too early in their relationship to have this conversation, but Dean breaks the silence with a long sigh before he speaks.

“I have a child.”

The words are spoken so quietly that Castiel isn’t completely sure he heard them.  But he felt the vibration of sound from Dean’s chest.  His brain jumps from question to question.  Why didn’t Dean tell him before?  Where is the child?  How old?  Who is the other parent?  Did he carry the child himself?  And on and on.  But he doesn’t managed to ask any of them before Dean continues at a more normal volume.

“You know I was kept in one of Lucifer’s breeding compounds right?”

Bile rises up in his throat when he realizes what Dean just admitted to.  Dean was kept in the compound for two years, and he was at the age Lucifer considered perfect for breeding.  Honestly, Castiel should be more surprised that Dean only has one child.  

Castiel doesn’t try to deny it.  “Sam told me.”

“Yeah, he confessed to me a few weeks ago.  I should be pissed at him for telling you, but honestly?” Dean laughs darkly.  “I’m glad I don’t have to.”

“Dean-”

“I kept waiting for it to come up,” Dean interrupts.  “I figured you’d mention it at some point.”

“Why would I?”

Dean barks another angry laugh.  “I dunno, Cas.  Maybe because it’s a big fucking deal?”

Castiel pulls his fingers out of Dean’s grip, which had tightened almost painfully.  He wraps his arms loosely around Dean’s shoulders and presses his lips against Dean’s ear.  “My real name is Castiel Novak.  That’s a big fucking deal too.  Bigger than I thought it was.  But we don’t talk about it.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Dean grumbles.  His scent is going more sour, and his body tense.

“Neither does the fact that you were kept in Lucifer’s breeding camp,” Castiel says firmly.

“Bullshit, I can smell the lie, Cas.”

He’s not lying.  Well not completely.  It matters to him that Dean had to suffer because of Castiel’s psychotic brothers and Lucifer’s fanatical belief that True Breeding could bring mythical powers back to their species.  But it _doesn’t matter_ in the way that he suspects Dean thinks it does.  “Dean, I don’t think less of you because of what happened to you.”

He’d hoped to soothe Dean’s concerns, but he seems to have aggravated them instead.  Dean’s scent changes so quickly that it makes Castiel’s sinuses itch.  The sweet undertones disappear, and the normally buttery scent goes rancid.  He’s so shocked by the change that he doesn’t react when Dean surges up out of the tub.  He watches with wide eyes as Dean grabs a towel and strides into the bedroom.

It takes him several long moments before he’s able to snap into action himself.  He gets out of the tub, careless of the water that splashes over the edge, grabs his own towel and follows.  When he sees that Dean is pulling on clothes while his skin is still mostly damp, the towel bunched at his feet instead of put neatly in the laundry hamper, his heart starts drumming with oncoming panic.

“Dean?  What’s going on?  What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing, Cas.”  Dean’s movements are stiff, and he keeps his eyes firmly averted from Castiel as he sits down to pull on some socks, his boots near his feet, ready to be pulled on next.

Castiel watches, unable to break through his confusion to act.  So he stands frozen and shivering as water drips down his bare skin, just inside the room as Dean ties his shoes on.  When Dean starts looking around for his wallet and phone and keys, Castiel finally snaps out of his daze.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah.”  Dean doesn’t elaborate.  He glances up at Castiel and away.  His expression is dark, angry.  But there’s more to it.  Something sad, that reaches out to Castiel and begs him to offer comfort.

If only he knew how.  Every line of Dean’s body radiates a warning to back off, and Castiel is smart enough to recognize that he absolutely needs to heed it.  But he can’t do nothing, so he drops his own towel and goes to the dresser to pull out some clothes for himself.

His movements get Dean’s attention, and the omega goes still, eyeing him warily.  “What are you doing?”

Castiel pulls on a pair of boxer shorts as he answers.  “I’m going to walk you out.”  When he straightens, he looks at Dean, his expression carefully neutral.  “Is that alright?”

He can see that Dean wants to say no, but he doesn’t wait for him to make up his mind.  He doesn’t have much time, so he pulls on some jeans.  They’re a little tight, so they might be Dean’s, but he doesn’t have time to swap them out now.  He pulls on a t-shirt, and when he turns to look, Dean is still standing near the bed.  He’s staring down at the rumpled sheets, his green-gold eyes unfocused.  The room is permeated with the smell of sex, but Dean’s scent comes through.  It’s less sour, but Castiel can tell his mood is still fragile.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean mutters.

Years of experience at controlling his emotions in courtrooms and boardrooms almost makes Castiel hide his reaction.  But he wants Dean to see his relief, so he let’s his shoulders drop, and breathes out a sigh.  “Thank you.”

Dean’s head jerks in a nod, but he doesn’t look up.  Castiel hurries to finish dressing, pulling on a thick sweater as well as the ugly beanie and scarf Dean gave him.  As soon as Castiel is finished dressing, he starts moving, grabbing his things from the bedside table where he’d left them two days before when he came to spend his heat in the comfort of his own room.

They walk out of the room together, and Castiel falls a step behind Dean, giving him his space but staying close enough to feel his presence.  The huge house is silent, but there are signs of celebration on the main floor when they come down the stairs.  Streamers hang from the tops of doorways, and there’s confetti on the floors.  It’s a reminder that the new year started while Dean and Castiel were sequestered away upstairs, celebrating the birth of a new year with life affirming sex.

He sends up a prayer that this strange distance he feels Dean creating between them is an anomaly and not a symptom of the old year ending.  

The sun is up, and it’s glaring brightly off the snow that crunches under their feet as Castiel walks Dean out to his truck.  Seeing the dingy old Chevy makes him think about all the times Dean has gushed about his Impala, and promised to take Castiel for a nice long drive in her as soon as the roads are no longer icy death traps.  

Dean opens the truck door and leans in to put his keys in the ignition and start it up.  Then he closes it again and turns to Castiel.  He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down at his boots.  He doesn’t say anything, and Castiel doesn’t expect him to while he’s outside.  He knows Dean doesn’t use his voice where he thinks he might be overheard.  The fact that he has his hands in his pockets means that he has nothing to say, so Castiel isn’t sure what Dean is waiting for.

Above them the skies are completely clear.  So blue that it’s almost painful to look at.  And since there are no clouds, it’s even colder than Castiel expected it to be.  He shivers inside his coat, and wonders if the extreme temperature is detrimental to Dean’s health.  His skin is still feverishly pink, his heat still in full swing.  He’s probably got another six to twelve hours left if his body follows the same pattern it did the last time they cycled together.  

He reminds himself that Dean has been living through these mountain winters for years, and he knows what his body can handle.  But he still has to resist the urge to drag Dean back inside and bundle him up in bed under several blankets.  If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that Dean would definitely _not_ appreciate that.

Dean’s eyes flick up to his, then drop back down to his feet, and Castiel’s resolve breaks.  Instead of waiting to see what Dean wants, he steps forward and wraps the omega in a loose hug and rests his cheek on Dean’s shoulder.  

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean shakes his head.  Castiel isn’t sure if that’s a sign that he doesn’t want an apology, or doesn’t think Castiel needs to give him one.  He’s afraid to ask, and besides, Dean won’t answer anyway.  But Dean doesn’t pull away.  

He doesn’t hug back either, but _he doesn’t pull away._  Castiel takes that as a good sign.  Especially when Dean’s head tilts to the side, brushing his cheek against Castiel’s.  

The creak of a door opening and then slamming shut across the road separates them.  Castiel looks over to see Zachariah coming outside, bundled up tightly against the cold, and a coffee mug in his hand.  Castiel’s eyes narrow with suspicion until he sees Zachariah’s dog flouncing around in the snow before squatting and doing its business.  

Dean pulls away though, and turns to get in the truck.  Castiel stops him with a hand on his arm as he’s starting to pull the door closed.

“Are we okay?”

Dean shrugs, and he still won’t meet Castiel’s eyes.  He doesn’t shake Castiel’s hand away, though.  He just waits patiently until Castiel finally lets his fingers slip free of his sleeve.  

Castiel flinches when the door slams shut.  He takes a few steps back and watches the truck pull out of the drive.  He watches it until it disappears around a corner at the end of the street, trailing steam from the exhaust pipe.

“Trouble in paradise?”  

Zachariah’s voice is loud in the early morning stillness, and it grates on Castiel’s nerves.  He glares at his noisy neighbor and wonders why the pastor won’t get the hint that Castiel isn’t interested in joining his flock.  It’s been a few months now, and the invitations haven’t stopped.

Silence does nothing to deter Zachariah.  He wanders closer, boots crunching over the rock salt liberally spread over the sidewalks.  He doesn’t actually step into the street to cross it though, which means that his voice is still obnoxiously loud when he continues.  “Shame.  I was hoping to see someone finally tame that omega and bring him to heel.”

Castiel’s muscles tighten, and he barely refrains from snarling at the other man.  “Excuse me?”

The venom in his voice surprises Zachariah.  His eyebrows shoot up toward his non-existent hairline.  “That young man has been in need of a strong alpha to guide him for years.”

He knows he isn’t going to like what he’s about to hear and he should cut this conversation off immediately, but Castiel’s shock holds him in place.  “Why?”

Zachariah scoffs.  “Look at him.  He’s what, in his early thirties?  And still unmated?  Obviously there’s something wrong with him.”

Shock starts to fade into anger.  “There’s nothing wrong with Dean.”

“Besides the fact that he’s mute?  Maybe not.  That’s a pretty alarming flaw though.  What if it’s genetic?”  Zachariah hums thoughtfully and looks off in the direction Dean drove away in.  “Maybe it’s for the best that he doesn’t breed.  The Were bloodlines need to be strengthened, and it’s better not to muddy them up with birth defects.”

Before Castiel realizes what he’s doing, he’s already shot across the road and lifted Zachariah by the lapels of his coat.  He feels the heat of Zachariah’s coffee splash against his ankle when the mug falls from his hand and shatters at their feet.  The dog is barking, but Castiel ignores it, because it would have to be an incredibly stupid animal to attack a Were alpha bleeding as much rage out of his pores as Castiel probably is at the moment.  The beta is significantly larger than him, and Castiel is still worn down by his rut, but rage fuels his strength.  “You will not talk about him like that.”

Zachariah’s eyes bug out, and for once, Castiel thinks the pastor might actually be listening to him.  If violence was all it took, he wishes he’d thrown a punch several months ago.  “Of course, of course.”  His hands come up and grip Castiel’s wrists.  “I apologize, I was out of line and shouldn’t have spoken of your mate that way.”

Castiel let’s Zachariah go, and steps back, jerking his hands out of the beta’s touch.  “He’s not my mate.  But I’d be honored if he’d have me.” He should back away, but he can’t go without addressing Zachariah’s old fashioned notions.  “And for the record, Dean doesn’t need anyone to guide him.  He’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself.”

Zachariah is either stupid or suicidal.  His face scrunches up in a frown, and he looks at Castiel like he’s speaking tongues.  “But Fenrir’s children should all know and accept their roles in the pack.  The omega’s place is in the home, caring for their alpha’s offspring-”

“Is that what you teach in church?” Castiel demands, still a hairsbreadth from doing violence.  Zachariah’s words echo lectures Castiel used to hear from Lucifer constantly as a child.

“Well, not exactly.  I know it’s not the most popular opinion right now.” Zachariah stares at him sharply.  His dog has stopped barking, but is whining in the background.  “But I know you understand.  I imagine you know his gospels by heart, having learned them at Lucifer’s knee.”

Suddenly Castiel no longer feels the cold.  His focus zones in on the minute details of Zachariah’s face.  The loose skin of his jowls, and the patchy redness of his cheeks.  The fanatical lift of his eyebrows.  “What?”

Zachariah leans closer and finally lowers his voice so that it isn’t booming around the neighborhood.  “I know you’re Castiel Novak,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper.  “I didn’t recognize you at first, but when I did, I knew you came to our peaceful town to escape your brothers’ fates.  I won’t tell a soul.”

He thinks Castiel is hiding from the law, and not his own brothers.  Castiel would laugh if he didn’t feel like he could throw up at any second.

“And when things die down, and you’re ready to take up Lucifer’s mantle, I’ll be by your side,” Zachariah continues.  “Even if you decide to mate with that omega.  At least he’s pure blooded.  And quiet!  I’ll bet that’s convenient.”

The beta’s raunchy chuckle is the last straw.  This time Castiel goes for his throat, a single hand locked around his windpipe.  “You listen to me,” he growls in the beta’s reddening face.  “I abhore Lucifer and everything he has done.  I will _never_ be a part of his disgusting cult.  And _you-_ ” he takes supreme pleasure in the beta’s gurgling noises when his fingers tighten, “-will stay far away from me, and the Winchesters.  In fact, you should probably leave town before I turn you in as a collaborator, the way I turned in my own brothers.”

Zachariah’s eyes widen at that.  Castiel shoves him away, pleased when he stumbles and falls into the snow.  He bares his teeth in a threatening snarl at the beta and his dog before spinning on a heel and stalking back to the Winchester B&B.  Part of him hopes Zachariah won’t heed his warning, giving him an excuse to rip into him.

This time he knows his agitation isn’t from his rut.  He meant every word of his threat.  And more.

Once he’s inside, he looks at the clock over the mantle in the common room.  It’s just past eight o’clock.  The Winchesters don’t have guests between Christmas and New Year’s Day, and he knows Sam and Eileen are taking the rare opportunity to sleep in.  But he needs to warn them about Zachariah.  He turns to the stairs, and makes his way up to the third floor, hoping the whole time that Sam won’t ask him why Dean left.  He won’t have an answer, because he still doesn’t understand it himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't going to be very fluffy for the next little while.


	16. Chapter 16

January in the Rockies is cold enough to freeze fire, and even though Dean let the truck run for a minute before leaving Sam's, the heater is just barely taking the edge off the biting cold.  He barely notices though, since the cold brings relief from the waves of heat rolling through his veins.  The chill from the steering wheel leeches the warmth from Dean's hands, and as his core body temperature cools, so does his temper.  By the time he's pulling into the gravel drive in front of Bobby's house, he's trying to remember why he was so pissed off.

He parks the truck and turns off the engine, but doesn't move from his seat.  The cold still feels good against his fevered skin, and he is hesitant to go inside the house where it’s probably going to be comfortably warm for anyone but a Were omega in heat.  The low temperature calms his heart and makes the fuzzy edges of his thoughts come into focus.

Leaning back in the seat, he lets his hands settle low on his belly.  The weight of them feels wrong without Castiel's fingers laced with his own.  

It's been so long since he's allowed himself to think about the possibility of children.  More than a decade of watching other people dote on their offspring while he suppresses the memories, even as he helped pull kids out of cages, or raided compounds and herded them towards safety, or comforted those who were glad to be free but not ready to go home.  He's learned to live with the frequent pangs of grief.  To push away the longing for something lost long ago.

When Castiel asked him about children, all those years of control crumbled under the onslaught of bitterness.

How dare he?  How dare Castiel _fucking_ Novak ask him if he wants children?  

And how could the idea of having children with Castiel _fucking_ Novak fill him to the brim with yearning?

Some of that hot rage returns, not as vicious as before, and he recognizes that his temper is definitely hormonal.  The anger is real, but so is the anguish underlying it.

He closes his eyes and for the first time in fifteen years he deliberately dredges up a memory.  Of Lydia's golden hair glowing strawberry pink in the sunlight coming through the window.  Her sweet smile as she guided his head down to her swollen belly so he could press his ear to the cotton covered mound.  His sensitive ears were not enough to let him hear the baby's heartbeat, but he could imagine it.  Like a bird's wings fluttering inside her.

He remembers the tinkling sound of her laughter when he got excited about being kicked in the cheek.  How she'd cupped his face and her alpha-red tinged brown eyes glowed with joy.

_"Isn't she wonderful, Dean?"_

_They didn't know the child's primary gender; the compound had the technology for ultrasounds because the health of the babies was of utmost importance, but the people that ran the clinics insisted on making them wait until birth to learn the baby's designation.  It was some religious bullshit that Dean refused to believe in, but Lydia hadn't bothered to argue, and when he tried to protest or to peek at the monitors he was banned from the room during her check ups.  But despite the uncertainty, Lydia was convinced they would be gifted with a daughter._

_Dean didn't care either way, but he was careful not to express his fears over the child's secondary gender.  An alpha or an omega would be forced to live in the compound and breed when it came of age.  A beta would be taken away, dropped off with an orphanage, according to the assholes in charge, although he had his doubts about that._

_Both outcomes terrified him, but he kept those feelings to himself so Lydia wouldn't be stressed.  She refused to think about it, and he already loved the tiny spark of life growing inside her too much to risk snuffing it out._

_So he played along.  "Yeah, he totally is."_

_It was always fun to see her roll her eyes at him when he insisted they were having a boy._

When he blinks away the memory tears well up and spill free, cold against his cheeks as the low temperature sucks his body heat away.  He reaches up to wipe them away, pressing his thumb and fingers against his eyes until he sees red and white flashes behind his lids.  His breath shudders in and out of his lungs, falling just short of actual sobs.

He never found out the baby's gender.  And he probably never will, even with Lucifer behind bars and the compounds slowly being dismantled.  

The rage that seethes under his skin yearns for a target to be unleashed on, and it's easy to blame Cas.  Easy, but unfair.  Logic channels the anger inward instead, where it feeds off his guilt.  As always.

Fuck, Castiel probably thinks Dean is mad at _him_.  He is, kinda, but not really.  If he’d stuck around though, it would have gotten worse.  He needed space and time to calm down.  But without being able to explain that, Cas is gonna...

He drops his hand from his face and slams it against the cold steering wheel.  A dull throb goes through his wrist, and it helps center him again.  Something he desperately needs with the last surge of heat hormones driving him half crazy.  

This is the worst heat he's ever experienced, and he doesn't know if distancing himself from Castiel will help or not, but since this escalation only started since he met Cas, he's going to assume space is the better option for now.  He'll text Castiel when his heat breaks and make sure he knows Dean's anger isn't really directed at him.

Hopefully Castiel won't ask him to explain.  He's not sure he'll ever find the words to tell that story to anyone.  Even in sign language.

With a sigh that curls into a cloud of steam in front of his face, Dean reaches for the door handle and slides out of the truck.  He winces when the changing pressure on his ass brings forth a small twinge of pain as well as a gush of slick.  Despite spending the last two cycles with Castiel, his ass still isn’t accustomed to being knotted so often.  He’d probably be really fucking sore if Cas was one of those knotheads who only liked to spend his rut with his cock buried in something wet and willing.  

Lucky for them both, Castiel likes to switch it up.  It saves on condoms, and Dean is able to sit comfortably.  Mostly.  He’s not so sure Castiel can say the same.  Dean smirks at the thought, and lets his mind linger on the alpha as he makes his way into the house.  

The last few months have been blissfully domestic.  They spend several evenings a week together, and on weekends they take turns staying at Sam and Eileen’s place and Bobby’s place.  Dean doesn’t like to leave Bobby alone, and Castiel doesn’t mind the short drive out of town to come visit.  

They never did finish watching The Hulk, but they managed to make it through the rest of the Marvel movies and started on TV series that Castiel has missed out on because he’s always been too busy to sit in front of the screen.  The alpha is fond of marathoning shows, and has become addicted to Netflix.  And he doesn’t mind Dean’s habit of signing along with the characters’ dialogue.  

Maybe that’s not the greatest basis for a relationship, but there’s not really a lot of dating activities in a town as small as Silverton.  At least not in the winter, unless you’re into skiing.  Which Castiel is adamant about not ever trying.  But between Netflix marathons, board game nights with Sam and Eileen and anyone else who decides to join, babysitting Tanya once a week, and just talking about their thoughts, Dean is happy with the way things are between them.  

And Castiel seems to be happy too.  He’d looked underweight and haggard when he first stumbled into Silverton, but now his cheeks are filling out, and his ribs are no longer prominently visible under his skin.  Not that anyone but Dean would know that, but the fact is that he looks healthier, and his tiny smiles have broadened into larger grins that make Dean want to do anything in his power to keep bringing them to the surface.

He fits right in with Dean’s friends and family, and more and more Dean fantasizes about marking him as an honorary Winchester.  He’d nearly broken the skin of Castiel’s shoulder a few days ago when their cycles had just started and he’d been overwhelmed by Castiel’s body surrounding him and filling him.  Only the thinnest essence of control had kept him from clamping his jaw tighter and letting the blood splash across his tongue.

But kids?

Dean pauses inside the house, letting his body acclimate to the warmer temperature.  Reluctantly he shuts the door behind him, instantly missing the cold air.  So he pulls off his coat and kicks off his boots, shoving them under a bench sitting against the wall under the coat hooks.  His movements are slow as he considers Castiel’s earlier question about whether he thinks about having kids.

The anger threatens to flare up again, but he’s got better control over it at the moment, and it helps that he’s not surrounded by Castiel’s scent.  Standing in the entry hall of Bobby’s house, with only the musty smell of old books, the odor of stale alcohol and whatever had last been cooked in the kitchen, he’s able to consider Castiel’s question somewhat rationally.

Would he be willing to try for kids?

His hand drifts to his belly, and-

A loud thump from upstairs jerks Dean from his thoughts.  He cocks his head, listening for more, but there’s only silence.  He frowns at the lack of sound.  Despite his drinking habits, Bobby is an early riser and usually at this point in the morning he’d be listening to some radio talk show, or maybe watching the news from the shitty little TV in his office.

Bobby had insisted on staying home alone for the holiday.  Jody was going to be on duty, and he claimed to be too old for New Year’s Eve “shenanigans”.  And when Dean had been reluctant to leave him alone for a few days when his heat was about to start, Bobby had threatened to drive him out with a shotgun loaded with rock salt rounds if he didn’t “go get it out of his damn system”.  Dean had only relented after Garth and Sam had both made promises to check on Bobby daily.

He’d felt good about his decision.  Bobby was doing better than he’d been in a long time.

Now though, a sudden fear clenches his belly tight and he bolts towards the stairs.  

A shout fills his throat, blocked behind the non-existent lump, but his lips form Bobby’s name despite the lack of sound.  His steps thunder against the wooden steps, and across the floor as he sprints towards Bobby’s room.  The door is closed, but unlocked, and Dean slams through it, ignoring the way it bounces back at him from the wall.

The bed is empty, the covers rumpled and half pulled off to one side.  Dean is only three steps inside when he’s able to see why.

When he sees Bobby face down on the floor with his legs still tangled in the blankets, a strangled sound finally breaks free of his throat.  He rushes to Bobby’s side, ignoring the way his knees ache in protest when he drops down to the floor.  His hands are shaking when he reaches out to roll Bobby over, and more distressed noises escape him when the older man doesn’t respond to his touch.  

He pulls Bobby into his arms, and presses his fingers against Bobby’s scruffy throat.  A pulse flutters weak and erratic under his touch, but the relief he feels is minor.  Bobby’s face is pale, the skin rubbery looking.  His eyelids flutter, but when they open, one stays drooped nearly closed.  His lips move like he’s trying to say something.

The lump in Dean’s throat swells, but he strains against it.  A single word breaks free.  “Bobby-”

Dean’s lungs freeze when Bobby smiles at him with only half of his mouth.  One of Bobby’s arms slowly lifts from where it rested on the floor, and his hand slaps roughly against Dean’s cheek.  His fingers are cold against Dean’s fevered skin, and the calluses catch against his stubble.  

Bobby’s lips part again, and this time there’s a breath of sound.  “Idjit.”

A sob breaks loose in Dean’s chest, and his vision blurs.  He blinks away the tears in time to see Bobby’s eyes unfocus, even as he feels the hand slip away from his face.  The thump as it hits the floor makes Dean flinch, and his arms tighten around the body in his arms.

Xxx

 

Castiel hesitates on the landing with one foot on the stairs that lead up to Sam and Eileen’s private rooms.  His news about Zachariah is urgent, but can it wait until later in the day?  

No, he decides.  It can’t wait because he has no idea whether Zachariah has immediate connections to people who would want to know Castiel’s location.  

He doubts Zachariah has any meaningful place in Lucifer’s cult because he’s a beta, and therefore considered worthless, but the fact that he knew Castiel on sight tells him that Zachariah isn’t just some beta with an alpha complex wishing he could play with the big kids.  Due to Castiel’s intense desire for privacy, he’s managed to avoid showing up on the media’s radar his whole life.  He has yet to see a clear picture of himself on the news, despite how eager the reporters were at first to expound on the “mysterious Novak brother” after Castiel had sent out the damning evidence against his family.

Balthazar always thought he was nutty for being so careful to avoid paparazzi, but he’d shown that he was a true friend by playing along.  For which Castiel has been eternally grateful.  He’s still the one person from his life as a Novak that Castiel feels any regret leaving behind.

Well, maybe Gabriel too.  But he’s not sure he wants to find out whether Gabriel’s shady activities were linked to the cult or the slave trafficking.  

Knowing he can’t wait, Castiel makes his way to the top floor.  He feels out of place in Sam’s little office outside their bedroom, and he almost turns at the top of the stairs and goes back down, unwilling to invade his hosts’ private space.  But Zachariah isn’t just a threat to Castiel.  He’s a threat to all of Silverton.

He could call Jody instead.  As sheriff it would be best for her to know the threat Zachariah poses to her town.  

He’s about to turn and go back down the stairs, but the bedroom door opens and Sam steps through.  The younger Winchester brother is clothed in a long sleeved t-shirt and loose fitting pajama bottoms.  His hair is wildly tousled, his feet are bare, and his eyes are only barely open.  Through the open door behind him, Castiel catches a glimpse of a bed, Eileen a sleeping lump under the covers.  

Sam catches Castiel’s scent almost immediately.  His nose crinkles and he blinks blearily at Castiel.

“Cas?  What’s up, man?” He runs the fingers of both hands back through his hair, brushing it back from his face but leaving it even more ruffled than before.  His whole frame straightens, and he looks more awake.  “Is something wrong with Dean?”

Shit, on top of the issue with Zachariah, Castiel is going to have to explain Dean’s absence.  Castiel sighs, knowing there’s no way around the conversation.  He just hopes that Sam doesn’t carry through on his threats of violence for hurting Dean until they figure out exactly why Dean is upset.

“Dean went home.”  It pains him to say it out loud.  He rubs a hand over his chest, and forces himself to meet Sam’s eyes.

“What?”  Sam is definitely awake now, radiating protective energy.  “Why?  Is his heat over already?”

Castiel shakes his head.  “No, he’s probably got a few hours left.”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline and he takes a step forward.  “What the hell, Cas?  Did he say why?”

It’s too difficult to meet Sam’s incredulous expression, and Castiel drops his eyes to the floor between them.  The pain twists tighter around his chest, and it’s hard to take a deep enough breath to speak.  “I made him angry, but I’m not sure-”

He cuts off when his body starts to shake.  An intense tingling spreads from the tips of his fingers into his palms before fading into numbness.  It’s not until he feels Sam’s large hands guiding him to the chair by his desk that he realizes his knees are weak and close to collapsing under him.  He looks up and blinks when he finds Sam’s face close to his own.

“Just breathe, Cas.”  Sam’s voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater, and Castiel has to concentrate to make out the words.  He takes an exaggerated breath and blows it out, then does it again, motioning with the hand that isn’t holding Castiel upright to show _in_ then _out._

Castiel realizes he’s supposed to be breathing along so he does.  The extra oxygen clears his mind, and the shuddering in his arms and legs subsides even as the numbness in his extremities recedes.

Sam is still staring at him intently, and now that Castiel is able to focus, he can see Eileen standing half ducked behind the doorway behind him.  Her eyes are wide with worry, and Castiel doesn’t understand why until he registers the burned chemical stink rising up from his own skin.  

“Cas, you okay?”

Castiel blinks again and turns his attention to Sam.  His tongue feels thick and unresponsive, but he forces it to work so he can answer Sam’s question.  “I-I’m n’t sure… I-I feel… strange.”

“I think you’re experiencing Rejection Syndrome,” Sam says slowly enough for Castiel to follow the words.  

Rejection Syndrome?  “But tha’s somethin’ that only happens with mates,” he slurs.

Despite the lingering worry in Sam’s eyes, he huffs out a small laugh.  “Yeah, buddy.  I’m pretty sure it does.  Do you need something to drink?”  He doesn’t wait for an answer, turning to Eileen so she can see him speak.  “Sweetheart will you-”

His head whips back around and he looks down.  Castiel realizes the strange buzzing he’s hearing is Sam’s phone, which he pulls from the pocket of his pajamas.  “Huh,” Sam mutters.  “Speak of the devil.”

Castiel catches sight of Dean’s name on the screen, and he frowns when he realizes it’s a phone call and not a text.  If the frown pulling at Sam’s features is anything to go by, he also realizes it’s something serious.  He swipes a thumb across the screen to answer, and looks at Castiel as he puts it up to his ear.  “Dean?  Hey, are you o-” he cuts off with a gasp, his eyes going wide.  “What?”

Something moldy invades Sam’s scent as he listens to whatever Dean is saying.  It’s so strong that Castiel’s sinuses begin to itch.  Eileen comes out of hiding to stand at Sam’s side, no longer worried about the fact that she’s wearing a thin nighty.  

“Dean… Dean!  Calm down, we’ll be there in a few minutes okay?”

Even though he can’t make out the words, Castiel hears Dean’s voice, harsh and pleading.  He must hang up because Sam pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at the screen.

“Sam?” Eileen cups a hand over Sam’s shoulder to get his attention.  When he looks up at her, she brushes her knuckles down his cheek before petting his hair back from his face.  “Honey, what’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure, but Dean needs us to go to Bobby’s place right now.”  He looks at Castiel.  “You too.”

“He wants me there?” Castiel asks, surprised.  A rush of adrenaline is clearing his thoughts, and smoothing his speech.  Something is wrong, and every instinct is screaming at him to rush out and get to Dean as soon as possible.  But their last conversation hadn’t ended well, and he can’t imagine that Dean is begging for his presence.  

“He’s needs you.”  Sam doesn’t elaborate.  He pushes to his feet, and guides Eileen towards their bedroom, calling over his shoulder “give us five minutes to get dressed, and we’ll head out.”

Castiel doesn’t bother to respond.  Sam’s smart enough to know Castiel will obey.  

It takes the Winchesters less than five minutes, and then all three of them are heading downstairs.  Castiel is still too shaky to drive, and Eileen’s car is blocked in by the other vehicles, so they all pile into Sam’s 4runner.  

The drive is silent, tense.  Sam doesn’t elaborate on what’s wrong, just telling them that Dean says they need to get there quick, so they do.  When they’re parked next to Dean’s truck, Sam leads them into the house, calling Dean’s name.

“Here, Sammy.”

Castiel’s head jerks up at the sound of Dean’s voice.  He wants to rush up the stairs to find him, but he can sense Sam’s distress, and since he isn’t sure what kind of welcome he’ll receive, he lets Sam precede him.  But he follows quick on his heels.

At the top of the stairs Dean’s scent hits him like a wall.  It’s sour with pain and anger and sorrow, and Castiel knows that whatever is wrong doesn’t have anything to do with their falling out earlier.  Fear pulls him toward the end of the hall after Sam.

“Dean,” Sam calls just before reaching the darkened doorway.  He steps through, but stops and makes a broken sound.  Then in a small voice that doesn’t sound at all like the tall, robust alpha, “Bobby?”

Time seems to dilate, running slower as Castiel follows Sam into the room and sees Dean on the floor next to the bed.  His eyes and nose are red, tears and worse trailing down his skin.  Three more steps and Castiel can see Bobby’s body cradled in Dean’s arms.  Castiel’s steps slow, and he’s barely aware of Eileen coming to stand next to him.  She gasps softly and from the corner of his eye he sees her hands come up to cover her mouth.

Sam kneels down next to Dean, who turns his face toward his younger brother even though his eyes don’t focus.  With fingers that are visibly trembling, he reaches out to Bobby and checks his pulse.  Then his body sags like the string holding him up has been cut, and he let’s out an anguished cry.  “Oh my gods… Bobby.”

Eileen unfreezes first, rushing to Sam’s side to wrap her arms around his shoulders which are shaking with sobs.  It takes a few more heartbeats for Castiel to move, the uncertainty of his welcome still holding him back.  But he can’t stand by and do nothing, so he crosses the space until he’s standing next to the small family crouched on the floor over Bobby’s still body.  He doesn’t look at the old human, knowing instinctively what he’ll see.  He feels sorrow for the man, because he’s become one of Castiel’s friends in the short months they’ve known each other, but there’s nothing he can do for Bobby right now.  It’s Dean who needs him most.

Dean’s head tilts up, and his green-gold eyes meet Castiel’s.  Tears spill from the corners, leaving pale trails against his skin.  His lips are parted, trembling, as if he wants to speak but there are no words for everything he’s feeling.

Castiel doesn’t need Dean’s words to know what he needs to do.  He lowers himself down to the floor next to his omega and wraps him in a tight hug.  It’s hindered by Dean’s grip on Bobby’s body, but Dean still leans into him.

Anguish clouds the air surrounding them, the salt of tears mixing with the pheromones leaking from their pores.  The only sounds in the room are harsh breaths and broken sobs.  And Castiel is afraid to think of how the loss of such a good man will shake up this little family.  But amidst the misery, Castiel feels a spark of hope when Dean nuzzles into his chest and whispers his name.


	17. Chapter 17

The kitchen is warm and quiet, only the sound of the dishwasher humming in the background keeping Castiel company while he prepares a meal to take with him to Bobby's house.  Despite the wide variety of casseroles that people from town have been bringing, Castiel is tired of eating them, so he's making simple ham and cheese sandwiches.  Dean probably won't care what Castiel brings him for lunch, since he has to be coaxed into eating, but making something with his own hands satisfies a deep seated need to care for his omega.

He spreads mustard across a slice of thick bread and presses it over the stacked meat and cheese before cutting the sandwich in half from corner to corner.  He keeps the triangles together as he sets them to the side to wrap in plastic after he's finished making another for himself.  Without mustard.  He hopes Dean notices and teases him about it like he always does.  Even just a smirk from the green-eyed omega would make Castiel happy at this point.

After he's finished with the sandwiches he bags up some chips and grabs some blueberry muffins one of Silverton's residents had brought in lieu of another casserole.  He packs the food in a picnic basket Eileen found for him when his daily ritual of making Dean lunch started.  Then he runs some hot water in the sink, adding soap until it bubbles up, and starts washing the dishes he'd dirtied.

"We have a dishwasher, you know."

Castiel looks over his shoulder to see Sam entering the kitchen with some plates and forks cradled in his large hands.  "It's full at the moment.  I didn't want to leave a mess waiting until it's finished running."

Sam huffs a sound that might be a laugh if his face weren't lined with mourning.  His eyes are red rimmed, and underlined with dark shadows, and his smile is more of a grimace.  "Cas, you don't have to-"

"Yes I do," Castiel interrupts gently.  "You and Eileen don't need to clean up after me like one of your paying guests."  

"You _are_ a paying guest," Sam points out, but he smiles a little more warmly and doesn't argue further.  He lifts the dishes in his hands.  "Got room in that sink for these?"

Castiel nods and moves enough for Sam to deposit his burden.  

He expects Sam to leave, but instead he grabs a towel and starts drying the clean dishes.  The silence returns as they work together.

"You know,"  Sam says after a while, "I wouldn't have expected you to be the dish washing type."

"I'm not."  He lifts his hands out of the soapy water and looks at them.  His fingers are already slightly pruney from being submerged in the warm water, and he marvels at the sensation of rubbing them together.  "I've never done it before I came here."

"Really?  Not even once?"

Castiel smiles at the light laughter lurking in Sam's tone.  "I think my family would have heart palpitations if they knew I sometimes loaded my own dishwasher instead of waiting for the help to take care of it.  But no, I've never washed them the old fashioned way."

"Well you're doing a fantastic job for a newbie."

"Yes, because it's so terribly difficult," Castiel responds dryly.  Some of the dark pall hovering around them lifts when Sam chuckles at the joke.  There has been little laughter in the house since Bobby's stroke, and Castiel is glad to be able to bring a smile to his friend's face.

He wishes he could do the same for Dean.  Thinking of the omega sobers him again.

Sam senses the change in his mood, and either guesses the reason, or it's on his mind as well.  "Thank you for being here with us.  And with Dean."

"Has he spoken to you yet?" Castiel's voice is gruff, and nausea twists inside him.  The symptoms of the Rejection Syndrome are not easing, but he's getting better at ignoring them.

Sam shakes his head.  "No, not a word.  He's still not signing either."

Castiel sighs, discouraged at Dean’s continued silence.  "I'm going to bring him lunch as soon as I'm done here."

"Thank you," Sam says quietly.

"You don't have to thank me."

"Yes I do."  Sam puts the last dry dish down and turns to face Castiel.  His eyes are wide, earnest, and brimming with sorrow.  "Dean doesn't handle grief very well.  And I know you think what you're seeing him go through now is bad, but he’s been so much worse in the past. At least he's eating and sleeping.  And it's because of you."

Castiel frowns.  "But I'm just bringing him food, and I'm not doing anything to make him sleep."

Sam scoffs at Castiel's confusion.  "Yeah, but don't you get it?  He's _eating_ the food you bring him.  He's coming home at a reasonable hour instead of working until he drops from exhaustion.  And since he's not up at all hours of the night replacing every light bulb in the house for the tenth time, I'm assuming he's actually sleeping with you."

They still share a room, and Dean curls into Castiel's chest every night.  And he does sleep, even if it's fitful and broken by nightmares he won't talk about.  It’s the only time that Castiel still feels like Dean needs him, because when he’s awake Dean is aloof and tends to stay at arm’s length.  It isn’t a relief to know that Dean retreats from contact with everyone else as well.  Logic doesn’t overrule Castiel’s hormones, or his fears that Dean will eventually stop wanting to share even his sleeping hours with him.  

Castiel acknowledges Sam’s words with a nod.  Turning away from the gratitude he sees in the younger alpha’s eyes, he unplugs the sink and watches the soapy water drain.  “It doesn’t feel like it’s enough,” he murmurs.

Sam’s hand is warm when he touches Castiel’s shoulder.  He waits until Castiel looks up at him again.  “But it is.  You’re a good mate for him, Cas.”

It’s a knee-jerk reaction to deny it.  “We’re not mates, Sam.”

“That’s a load of bullshit, and you know it.”  Sam’s voice is gentle despite the harsh words.  “You don’t need the blood bond to mate, that just makes it the strongest possible bond.  You two have been mated for a while, and you’re both too stubborn to admit it.”

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut.  He can’t be mated to Dean.  He doesn’t deserve such a perfect omega.  He doesn’t deserve to be gifted with love and family after everything that happened under his nose for so long.  “Sam… I can’t-”

“No, I get it,” Sam cuts in.  “You think you can’t because you’ve got the whole guilt thing going on.  But here’s the thing, Cas.  You’re not a Novak anymore.  And Dean may be the one that convinced me to give you a chance, but you’re the one who proved it.  So now you’re the only one left who needs to get past it, and let him make you a Winchester instead.”

Castiel doesn’t respond.  What can he say?  That becoming a Winchester would be the epitome of every secret thing he’s dreamed of?  That Dean is a gift he doesn’t deserve, but that he wants to grab with both a hands and never let go?  

“I’d like that,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper.

“Me too, Cas.”

To Castiel’s immense surprise, Sam pulls him into a hug.  He stiffens, unsure how to react.

“This is the part where you hug back, Cas.”

“Oh.”  Castiel is glad that Sam’s face is pressed against his shoulder so he won’t see how brightly his face is burning.  He forces the muscles in his arms to unlock and he hugs the taller man.  

Sam’s arms tighten.  “There we go.”  He holds Castiel for another long moment before pulling back and smiling brighter than he has in days.  “When you two decide to make it official, I’ll be happy to have you as part of the family.”

Castiel’s eyes prickle and he’s not sure of his voice, so he just murmurs a soft thank you.  Sam accepts it and makes a shooing gesture.  “I’ll finish up with this.  Go make sure my brother eats something.”

It’s an order that Castiel is happy to follow.  He retrieves the basket packed with food, and leaves the kitchen.  His coat is hanging on a hook near the door, and in moments he’s pulled it on along with the beanie and scarf Dean gave him.  

The drive to Bobby’s house is short since the weather has been clear and the roads are dry.  As he pulls into the gravel lot between Dean’s truck and the towtruck that Garth drives, he muses on the fact that everyone still calls it Bobby’s house though the human left it to Dean in his will.  Dean hasn’t broken his silence to indicate whether he wants to keep it as his own or not, despite the fact that he still shows up every day and allows Garth to continue work in the garage.  

Thinking of the gangly beta summons him.  Garth comes out of the garage when he hears the engine of Castiel’s borrowed jeep.  He smiles brightly and waves an oil stained rag over his head while striding toward where Castiel is parked.  

“Hey there, Cas!  How are you doing, my friend?”

On anyone but Garth, the level of cheeriness he displays would be grating while everyone else is in mourning for Silverton’s favorite human.  But Garth is such an endless ray of sunshine that it would be unnatural to see him any other way.  Castiel witnessed Garth’s sorrow at Bobby’s funeral, and it was deeply unsettling.  So it’s nice to see him more or less back to normal now.

“Taking it one day at a time,” Castiel answers honestly as he pulls the basket of food out of the passenger seat.  

Garth nods solemnly.  “I hear you.  That’s the best any of us can do, I guess.” He perks up when he sees the basket.  “Is that lunch?”

Castiel winces.  He only brought enough for two, because he was focused on Dean and forgot Garth would probably be there.  “I’m sorry, Garth.  I made this for Dean.”

Waving away Castiel’s apology, Garth hooks a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the garage.  “Don’t worry about me, I got my lunch already.  Bess’ leftover fried chicken.”  He smiles briefly, eyes unfocusing as he thinks of his wife.  Then he refocuses on Castiel with uncharacteristic seriousness.  “It’s good you’re here.  Dean’s been goin’ and goin’ all day, hardly taking a minute to breathe.”

It’s no different than any other day, but it’s still disheartening.  Castiel doesn’t want to be rude, but he feels a physical pull toward the house, and he starts edging in that direction.  “I should go check on him then.”

Luckily Garth understands his need.  “You do that.  I’m gonna clean up and head home in the next hour or so.  I’m only workin’ part time right now since Bess is due any day now.”

Despite his worry over Dean, Castiel pauses.  The new life about to come into their lives is a bright spot of joy amidst all the mourning, and he’s genuinely excited for the couple.  “Tell Bess hello for me.  Take good care of her.”

Garth beams and gives Castiel a little salute.  “You bet I will!  And you take good care of your omega too.” He practically twirls away, whistling a happy tune on his way back to the garage.

Castiel smiles after his friend for a moment before turning to the house and finally answering the pull inside him to find and care for his omega.  The door is unlocked and swings open easily, the tiny squeak that used to come from the bottom hinge no longer audible.  As soon as he steps inside his sensitive nose is assaulted with a cloud of cleaning products.  He smells lemon oil, and Pinesol, and vinegar.  

The floors gleam with fresh polish, and when he walks into the kitchen he's reminded so strongly of old Mr. Clean commercials he half expects to see the counter and appliances sparkling.  The room has never appeared dirty, but thanks to Dean's obsessive cleaning, old surfaces seem brand new.  

He sets the basket on the table and removes his outer layers, draping them over the back of a chair before going to look for Dean.  It does no good to call out to him since he won't answer, but Castiel doesn't mind searching.  He pokes his head in all the downstairs rooms, noticing the changes Dean has made since Bobby's death.  All the rooms are spotlessly clean.  In the library Dean pulled dirty books from the shelves and dusted them individually before putting them back in the same order.  In Bobby's office he'd cleaned up the cluttered desk, and scrubbed out the fireplace.  The old brass light fixture hanging in the hall is no longer coated with dust and spiderwebs.  

Castiel follows the path of cleanliness up the stairs.  The door is open to the guest bedroom he’d used when he first came to Silverton, and he can see that the wooden floors are shined, the bed is made with fresh linens, the blinds are dusted, and he’s sure the window behind them is also crystal clean.  The bathroom one door down sparkles, and Castiel can see that the grout is whiter than the tiles it holds in place.  The door to Dean’s room is open as well, and even though it was always kept tidy, not even a trace of Dean’s scent lingers because it’s been cleaned so thoroughly.

But all the rooms, just like the ones downstairs, are empty.  Which means there are only two places left in the house that Dean could be.  He could be down in the basement, but the open door at the end of the hall tells Castiel exactly where Dean is.

The room is dark when Castiel steps up to the door, blocking out what little light there is with his body.  But there’s still enough that he sees the blue-green glint of Dean’s retinas when he looks up from where he’s sitting on the floor.  Castiel’s mouth goes dry when he sees Dean sitting in the exact same place on the floor where Bobby had died in his arms.  

Unlike the rest of the house, this room doesn't smell like cleaning products.  It smells lived in.  Musty, with hints of whiskey and the ointment Bobby used when his joints were sore.  Even Dean’s sweet buttery scent threads through, thick with sorrow.  There’s still dust on surfaces, and the bed hasn’t been made since the last time Bobby slept in it.  His wheelchair sits at the side, waiting patiently to be used by a man who will never need it again.

Castiel has been to the house every day, bringing Dean meals when he takes a lunch break from his shift at Nora’s store, and then again in the evenings after work to make sure Dean comes home.  And every single day, this door has been closed.  

“Dean?” He hesitates before stepping over the threshold, unsure if he’s welcome in what Dean is treating like a sacred space.  “Are you…” he trails off.  Of course Dean isn’t alright, and it would be silly to ask.  

The change of angle makes Dean’s eyes brighten, the light flashing when he blinks, then disappearing when he drops his gaze back to his lap.  He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t protest Castiel’s presence either, so Castiel moves further into the room.  He’s not sure where to stop though.  He doesn’t want to tower over Dean, and it feels disrespectful to sit down next to him without invitation.  So he stops again after just a few steps.  Indecision makes him fidget.  His fingers curl in against his palms, and he chews at his bottom lip.

“I’m not mad at you.”

Castiel startles at the words.  Dean prefers to sign more often than not, and as Castiel picks up the language, he speaks out loud less.  But it’s been long enough since he’s heard Dean’s voice that the low gravel of it is unexpected.  And the words confuse him.  “What?”

Dean looks up again, his retinas glinting in the light from the open door.  “I’m not mad at you,” he repeats.  “I wasn’t mad.  On New Year’s.”

It takes a moment for Castiel to understand what Dean is talking about.  His stomach twists with nausea when he remembers the way they parted.  The tragedy of Bobby’s sudden disappearance from their lives has taken center stage in his thoughts, and while he hasn’t forgotten about Dean’s sharp words that day, he certainly hasn’t been thinking about them.  

“I didn’t think-”

“Yes you did,” Dean interrupts.  “But you gotta know, Cas.  I wasn’t mad at you then, and I’m not mad now.”  He looks down again, and in the dim light, Cas can see him clenching and unclenching his fists in his lap.  “I should have told Bobby that I wasn’t mad at him.  But I can’t now.”

The buttery sweetness in the air sours slightly, and Castiel can no longer resist the urge to go to his omega.  His footsteps echo too loudly in the room for the few steps it takes him to reach Dean.  Once he’s there, he crouches down and sits cross-legged next to him, not touching, but close enough that he could.  He wants to ask Dean questions, but he doesn’t have a chance because Dean starts speaking.

“I used to blame him for it,” Dean says.  “But it wasn’t his fault.  I knew it wasn’t.  Lydia wasn’t going to come with us.  She believed in the rise of Fenrir’s Children.  She was one of them before they ever shoved us in a cage together.”

Castiel blinks.  He has no idea who Lydia is, or what she has to do with Bobby.  But he knows what Dean means about being shoved in a cage together.  Sometimes Lucifer’s minions would lock breeding pairs up together, forcing them to bond.  It was a tactic he used most often with teenagers going through their first cycles, so they wouldn’t have enough self control to resist each other.  

Which means she was probably Dean’s mate.  

His whole body flashes cold and then boils hot at the idea.  A wild possessiveness rises up in him, along with a primal growl which he struggles to keep contained.  There’s no hiding the change in his hormones though.  The cinnamon that appeared in his scent when he spent that first cycle with Dean rises up until it burns his sinuses.  

Dean winces, his nose crinkling up and his eyes narrowing.  He reaches across the narrow gap between them and cups his palm over the back of Castiel’s neck and jerks him close.  Castiel nearly falls into him, flailing to keep his balance until he realizes that Dean is pulling his face into his neck.  He lets the omega cradle him close, and he takes in deep breaths full of Dean’s scent.  

It takes a few minutes to regain control of himself and when he does he inhales one last time and lets it out in a long sigh.  “I’m sorry.”

Dean’s fingers comb lightly through the hair at the back of his head, and he surprises Castiel by chuckling.  “I’m guessing by your reaction, you got a little jealous there, huh?”

Embarrassment heats Castiel’s cheeks, and he keeps his face ducked under Dean’s chin.  “I didn’t know you were mated.”

“Cas, you’ve seen pretty much all of me.  Have you seen a mating scar?”

Dean has many scars.  There’s a slash across his chin that he said he got from an accident in the garage.  His hands and fingers have a scattering of small white marks that are also from random cuts on tools and engines.  There’s a puckered pink patch of skin on his calf, that Dean refuses to explain, but looks suspiciously like a bullet hole, and the remains of an ugly burn on his right inner forearm.  

Nowhere has Castiel seen the curved mark of teeth in his skin.  And as Dean said, Castiel has had plenty of opportunity to find it.  

“I don’t understand,” Castiel says after he wracks his memory and comes up with nothing.  “Who was she then?”

Dean sighs, and goes quiet.  Castiel waits, and as the silence stretches out, his chest begins to ache with sorrow.  He shouldn’t have asked.  He should have let Dean go at his own pace instead of pushing for more information, and driving him back into silence-

“Calm down, Cas,” Dean murmurs against his forehead.  “It’s just-” he cuts off with a gurgling cough, as if something caught in his throat.  

Castiel has seen it happen to him before.  When he’s speaking as if he’s never had a problem with muteness, and it’s like he remembers that he’s not supposed to be able to talk and his voice shuts off mid-word.  It’s usually during moments of high emotion, or if someone else walks in the room.  After a frustrated growl or two, he switches to sign language, spelling out words Castiel still hasn’t learned yet.  But now his hands are occupied holding Castiel.  He tries to sit up, to let Dean free his hands to speak, but Dean’s grip on him tightens, holding him in place.

Dean clears his throat, then again.  His voice is hoarse when he manages to speak again, and it cracks on the last word.  “It’s just hard to talk about.”

“I understand.”

Dean’s chest rumbles with another soft laugh.  “Yeah, I guess you do.”

Castiel nuzzles against Dean’s throat.  He’s been growing a beard, complaining that Castiel can’t be the only one to look like a lumberjack, and it’s just long enough now that it’s soft to the touch.  “Take all the time you need.”

“It’s taken me years,” Dean mutters.  “I don’t want to wait any more.”

“So tell me.”

Dean does.  

The story comes out in broken words, and sentences separated by long pauses.  He tells about being snatched from the side of the road when he was fourteen, and being stuck in a cage without a stitch of clothing and nothing to protect him from the cold.  About how they practically starved him, telling him that they would take him to the land of plenty if he would swear his soul to Fenrir as one of His loyal children.

For months he refused, becoming weaker and weaker.  Waiting for a rescue that never came, and then eventually waiting for death because he was too stubborn to give those bastards what they wanted.  

And then one day the cage door was opened and an alpha girl a little older than him was shoved inside.  She was terrified, shaking with cold and hunger.  It took Dean several hours to coax her into giving him her name.

“Lydia,” Dean whispers.  

Tears well up in Castiel’s eyes at the pure sadness with which he pronounces her name.

It took Dean a few days to gain her trust enough to let him touch her.  He kept it innocent, just cuddling for warmth.  He was still a child, with only a bare understanding of sex, but she seemed to expect him to jump her at any second.  But over time, she relaxed in his presence, and they began to talk.  Never of anything serious, just their favorite foods and colors and the music they liked and the movies they disliked.  

When the guards asked again if Dean would swear an oath to serve Fenrir, Lydia begged him to accept, speaking her own oath in hopes for freedom.  And then sobbing out her fear and pain when the guards told her she couldn’t get out unless they both spoke the oath.

“That’s all it took,” Dean whispers so low that Castiel can only hear him because of proximity.  “It’s one thing to suffer, but to watch her go through it too?  Because of me?  I couldn’t do it.”

“You swore the oath?”

Dean’s chin bumps against Castiel’s cheek when he nods.  Castiel catches the scent of salt just before a warm droplet splashes against his face.  He wants to shift their positions so that he’s the one holding Dean, but the omega’s arms have tightened around him, so he stays where he is and tries to give comfort through words.    


“You did the right thing, Dean.  They let you out of the cage, didn’t they?”

Dean snorts bitterly, and his voice is clogged with tears, but comes stronger.  “They just moved us into a bigger, fancier cage.”

The walled compounds.  Small, self sufficient villages with no power or plumbing.  Lucifer believed the Were people not only needed to breed true, but to “live true”.  Castiel was only six or seven at the time, but he remembers the first time he heard his brother ranting about the evils of modern civilization.  At least he wasn’t the only one that thought Lucifer was a little bit crazy for that one.  Michael hadn’t said anything, but he’d eyed Lucifer like he was trying to figure out if he was serious or not.

Castiel knows a little bit about what life was like in the compounds, although he’d never been in one.  When he’d started discovering the hidden reports, he’d learned quite a bit.  The residents were paired off in the configurations most likely to produce offspring, and were expected to have as many children as possible.  The children themselves were raised by the entire adult population, and it was discouraged from forming too tight of a bond with your own offspring.  Children belonged to the community, not to the parents.

It explains Dean’s comfort with children.  At the age of fourteen, he would have been old enough to experience heat, and therefore technically he was an adult and would have been expected to help take care of the children.  And Castiel isn’t surprised he was paired with an alpha female.  The ability to impregnate each other would be considered sacred in Lucifer’s doctrine.

Dean may have been old enough to experience his heat, but he was still just a child.  Castiel was finishing his law degree at the time, casually waving away any suggestions from Michael that he should find a mate and start a family now that he was done with his schooling.  He can’t even imagine having children at that age, much less at _fourteen._  Gods, it makes him sick.  Why couldn’t he have found the information faster?  Why hadn’t he known what was happening so he could stop it?  How many young Weres had suffered the same fate Dean was describing to him during the next fifteen years, while Castiel went about his life, oblivious to the atrocities his brothers were committing?

And Dean had been stuck in that compound for two years.  Those are years he should have been studying, playing sports, learning to flirt, blushing through his first kiss, being carefree and _a child._

“Cas, you growl any harder, you’re going to injure yourself.”

Castiel’s growl cuts off as soon as he becomes aware of it.  “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, man.  It ain’t your fault.”

“I wish I stopped it sooner.”

Dean’s fingers thread through Castiel’s hair again, rubbing away the tension.  “But you did the right thing, Cas,” he says, echoing Castiel’s earlier words.  “As soon as you could.”

He did.  Maybe he could have leaked the information sooner, but he had to make sure he had enough evidence first.  If he didn’t have enough proof of what his brothers had done, they might have been able to wiggle their way out of the consequences.

Castiel may be a contract lawyer, but he knew exactly how to make the charges against his brothers stick.  And he waited until he had everything he needed to do so.

They’re quiet for a long time, lost in their own thoughts.  Castiel isn’t sure what Dean is thinking of, or if he’s just resting after so much talking.  It’s a long while before Dean starts his story again.

He tells of how he kept trying to break free of the compound despite his vow.  How he’d sometimes have to spend the night in the infirmary because his punishment was so severe every time he got caught.  Lydia constantly begged him to stop trying, to stay with her.  And he’d beg her to go with him, promising to get her back to her family.  

As time went by and neither of them became pregnant -“ yeah we were having sex, we were hormonal teenagers” - Lydia kept trying to convince him to exchange mating bites with her.  To make it official in the eyes of the gods, so they would be blessed.

“That’s when I started to suspect she wasn’t like me,” Dean said on a sigh.

“What do you mean?”

“She was a plant.”  Dean’s voice goes dark with anger.  “I found out later she’d grown up in one of the compounds.  She hadn’t been paired with anyone yet because she was a female alpha and they wanted to find her the perfect union.  They came after me specifically because I’m an omega.  They wanted to give her a holy mate.  Someone who would give her children blessed by the gods.  And when I wouldn’t swear the oath, she volunteered to get in that cage with me and change my mind.”  

His laugh is bitter.  “Joke’s on all of them I guess.  It took me two years to knock her up, and I never got pregnant at all.  And we never synced once in that entire time, even when they tried pumping us full of hormones to induce our cycles.”

All the emotion drains out of Dean’s voice when he continues.  But it’s underlined by a slight tremor which usually means that he’s forcing the words past what he described to Castiel once as a tennis ball sized imaginary lump in his throat.  

“I loved her though.  Despite the fact that she was a little bit crazy, I loved her.  And I was so damn-” he cuts off with a choked cough.  

Castiel uses Dean’s distraction to pull away.  The room is too dark for him to see Dean clearly, even with his sharp Were eyes, but he can see the gleam of tears on his cheeks.  He cups Dean’s face, wiping the wet tracks away with his thumbs.  “Dean, don’t force yourself.  Sign it for me.”

Shame twists Dean’s features and he tries to turn his face away, but Castiel holds him tight.

“It’s okay,” Castiel says.  “Your voice is lovely, but so are your hands.  Either way you choose to communicate, I’ll listen.”

Dean blinks at him, his eyes flicking back and forth between Castiel’s.  The fading light from the doorway catches his retinas again, making his eyes flash.  Before Weres and Humans learned to live together in peace, that flash was considered terrifying and monstrous by the Humans.  To Castiel it’s beautiful.

When Dean nods, Castiel drops his hands so that he’s not in Dean’s way.  But he scoots around until they’re facing each other, knees touching, and Castiel rests his hands on Dean’s thighs, hoping the touch will steady him.

Dean’s hands come up and he begins to sign.   _“I was excited to be a dad,”_ he says with slow movements so Castiel can keep up.  He mostly knows which words he has to spell out for Castiel and which ones he can use a sign for, and he switches smoothly back and forth between forms as he continues his story.   _“I was in love with that baby as soon as I sensed the change in Lydia’s scent.”_

“What did she smell like?” Castiel asks.

Dean’s smile is sad.   _“Irises.  She smelled like irises.  And when she got pregnant, she got sweeter._

 _“I tried even harder to talk her into running away with me.  I didn’t want my baby growing up there.”_ His hands pause, and he rubs them over his face and up into his hair, pulling at it.  Then he shakes his hands out, like his fingers are sore.

Castiel waits patiently, rubbing circles against Dean’s thighs.  His heart aches for Dean.  For the lost years of his childhood, and for the pain he obviously feels for his lost child.  He thinks he understands now why Dean became so upset when Castiel brought up children.

Something shifts inside him, and a tension that had become so constant he didn’t realize it was there finally eases.  The low throbbing headache he’s lived with since Dean left him so abruptly disappears, and his stomach untwists.  

Dean wasn’t rejecting him.  He was mourning a loss.  

 _“She was six months pregnant when the rescue came,”_ Dean finally signs.   _“Dad and Bobby had organized a raid on the place, busting open outer walls with explosives and using the chaos to get anyone out who wanted to go.  Lydia wasn’t one of us.”_

Castiel frowns.  Is this what Dean was blaming Bobby for?

 _“I didn’t know she’d refused to leave,”_ Dean continues, his hands shaking slightly now.   _“I was helping get some of the little kids out, and Bobby came running at me, shouting that we had to go now.  I guess Lucifer’s militia was coming and dad and Bobby didn’t have enough manpower to fight, just to grab as many kids as they could and get out.  I tried to go back for Lydia, but he dragged me out.”_

Dean’s hands fall to his lap, and a sob shakes his chest.  Castiel doesn’t need him to continue.  He can guess.  “You didn’t know that Lydia refused to leave the compound, and you blamed Bobby for leaving her behind.”

Dean nods.  His lips tremble, and more tears spill free to streak his face.  He jerks away when Castiel reaches up to wipe them away again, and his hands come up to continue the story.   _“He got shot in the back just as he was slamming the van doors in my face.  Dad had to drag Bobby into one of the other vans and get one of the rescued kids to drive it since Bobby couldn’t.”_ Dean bites at his bottom lip so deeply that Castiel expects to see blood well up.   _“He was in that wheelchair because of me.  But I was so damn mad at him about Lydia, that I told him he deserved it.”_

A harsh breath bursts from Dean’s mouth, and his whole body is shaking.  His hands still move, but Castiel can’t make out any words.  Panicked at Dean’s sudden breakdown, Castiel pulls the omega into his lap, wrapping him in his arms and rocking him as he sobs and wails all of his pain into Castiel’s chest.  He begins to babble, but the words are so broken that it takes Castiel a moment to understand what he’s saying.

“Never said sorry,” Dean cries against Castiel’s throat.  “‘m sorry, Bobby... ‘m sorry!”

Even if Castiel wasn’t deeply in love with the omega in his arms, hearing that much pain and heartbreak and regret would be impossible not to react to.  Tears blind him, and he clutches Dean tightly trying to mend his broken heart through sheer force of will.

By the time Dean calms down, he’s exhausted himself.  He goes limp in Castiel’s arms, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs slower and slower until it evens out.  Castiel rocks him like a child, and presses featherlight kisses against his hair.

“I think he knows,” Castiel says after a long, long time.  “You took such good care of him.  And anyone could see how much you loved him.  He didn’t need you to say the words, Dean.  He knew… he knew.”

Dean makes a hurt noise in the back of his throat and presses his face hard against Castiel’s chest.  Castiel strokes his hair, and nudges his face out of hiding.  Without Dean’s heat, the wet patch he left on Castiel’s shirt quickly goes cold, but it’s a discomfort he barely notices.  

“Are you hungry?” Castiel asks.  “I made ham and cheese sandwiches.”

Dean nods, but makes no move to get up.  His weight crushes Castiel’s legs, and is cutting the circulation off to his feet, but Castiel doesn’t mind.  He’ll take care of his omega in any way he needs, even if it means numb toes and bruised thighs.  And when Dean is ready to get up, he’ll feed him, and take him home.  Coax him into a warm bath, and see if he can talk him into a nap.  

It’s a language Dean taught him.  One that he understands now, more clearly than ever.  More than words, more than signs.  He hopes Dean hears his message, just like he’s sure Bobby heard Dean’s.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recommend listening to You'll Be Okay by A Great Big World while reading this chapter.

The world does something crazy after someone dies.  It continues to turn.

It sucks ass at first.  But the day to day activities of society still move forward, even when Dean feels frozen in amber.  Guests start coming back to the B&B, Castiel goes back to work at Nora's, and even Dean wakes up every morning and functions.  

Mostly.  The first week is a haze brought on by grief, guilt, and probably too many hours exposed to the fumes of cleaning chemicals.

After his meltdown in Castiel's arms, the alpha guides him out of Bobby's room and down to the kitchen.  About halfway through the ham sandwich Castiel made him, Dean feels like he’s waking up from a long dream.  He blinks groggily at Castiel, finally noticing that he looks as exhausted as Dean feels.  His lake-blue eyes are bloodshot and underscored by dark circles.  His beard, usually neatly trimmed, is scruffy and overgrown.  Seeing it that way makes Dean scratch at his own beard, wondering whether he needs to do a little grooming himself.

It turns out he does.  Badly.  And seeing Castiel's eyes light up later that evening when Dean drags him into the bathroom for a shared shower makes his chest ache with something other than sorrow for the first time in what feels like ages.

He’s still too drained to talk much for another few days, especially after pouring his heart out to Castiel, but eventually his words come back.  Sam nearly crushes him with a sasquatch sized hug the first time Dean signs _good morning_ to him.  It's the first indication he has of just how much he'd retreated into his own head, and even though Eileen and Mildred and Castiel are in the room, Dean manages to push a whispered "sorry, Sammy" past the lump in his throat.  He absolutely does _not_ let out a squeak when Sam responds by squeezing him even harder, and anyone who says otherwise is a damn liar.

Bobby's garage - Dean's now, according to the will, but he'll probably never stop thinking of it as "Bobby's" - officially reopens although Garth had been taking in small jobs on his own.  Dean goes back to being the town's resident grease monkey, even though he's the boss now.  He puts off figuring out the paperwork side of things, and gratefully accepts when Castiel offers to do it for him.

The house and salvage yard come with the garage, but Dean can't bring himself to move back into the place yet.  But it's nice having Castiel there for a few hours every afternoon, and when Dean notices that the alpha's scent is starting to linger he thinks maybe it'll start feeling like home again someday.  He doesn't examine why he thinks Castiel's scent makes him think of home too closely.  He's not ready.  Not just yet.

Nightmares that plagued Dean since Bobby's death fade.  His appetite returns, and soon he's raiding the pantries on his own instead of passively eating what's put in front of him.  Even his libido returns, waking him up early one morning with a raging case of morning wood that Castiel enthusiastically helps him take care of.

By the time Dean's birthday rolls around, he feels almost normal.  There's a minor twinge of guilt for enjoying the special breakfast Eileen makes for him, but it soon fades, replaced by the simple joy of spending a lazy morning with his family, Castiel at his side.

Watching Castiel laugh over something silly Eileen is telling him, Dean smiles.  His family didn't get smaller just because Bobby isn't with them anymore.  Bobby is part of Dean's pack, even if he was human, and his death doesn't change that.  If anything, Dean's family has grown thanks to Bobby's insistence that Castiel stick around for his own protection.  Bobby may not have had the Were biology that would allow him to scent out the good in people, but he didn’t need it to know Castiel belongs in their motley family too.

Castiel doesn't need a mating bite to make him a Winchester, but Dean's gums suddenly tingle with the urge to form the blood bond making it official.

Suddenly Castiel is looking at him.  His eyes practically glow, the skin crinkled at the corners.  Something in Dean's expression sobers Castiel, and he tilts his head curiously.  "Dean?"

Shaking his head and smiling to let Castiel know he has nothing to say, Dean turns his attention back to the dwindling pile of bacon on his plate.  

It's not even a month after Bobby's death when the world gives Dean its clearest sign that life goes on.  

A few days after his birthday he's working in the garage with Garth.  There isn't much work so he's got Castiel's jeep in for an oil change and general tune up since the engine had started squealing in the last few days when it's turned on.  He's already tightened the loose belt making all the racket and is in the process of inspecting the spark plugs when Garth's obnoxious ringtone cuts through the music coming from the stereo at the back of the garage.

He lifts his head and looks across the workspace where Garth had been doing inventory and compiling a list of supplies that need to be replenished.  When he sees Garth's cheerful smile disappear, along with all the blood in his face, Dean straightens and rushes over to his side.  He gets there just in time to grab Garth and keep him from listing to the side.  

"I'll be there in two shakes," Garth says weakly.  He taps the phone screen, then looks up at Dean with wide, terrified eyes.  "Bess is having the baby."

And then his eyes roll up and he collapses.  Dean barely manages to keep his gangly friend from hitting the ground like a dropped bag of potatoes, instead lowering him down to the oil stained floor in a controlled fall that won't result in injury.  He grunts a laugh and rolls his eyes.  Garth has been a sunbeam of optimism ever since he announced Bess' pregnancy, not showing a hint of nerves the whole time.  But now that the baby is truly on its way, the weight of everything must be hitting him.

He pats Garth's face, starting out gentle but when he doesn't get anything more than a flutter of eyelids, he gives him a good smack instead.  Which nearly gets him a bloody nose when Garth jerks awake and sits bolt upright.  Only quick reflexes let Dean duck out of the way of getting a skull to the face.

"Wha- where-?" Garth swings toward Dean and gives him a confused squint.  "Dean?"

Dean laughs again, and stands, helping Garth to his feet.  Once his friend is upright, he signs " _Bess called."_

For a moment he's afraid Garth is going to faint again when he remembers, but he pulls it together. "Oh! Oh my goodness!  I gotta get home!"

When Garth turns away, Dean grabs him by the shoulder to stop him from going anywhere just yet, and to make sure he has his attention.   _"Let me drive,"_ he signs. _"You're not exactly running on all cylinders."_

Garth's laugh is slightly hysterical, but he nods his agreement.  "Good idea, Dean."  He digs out the keys to his truck and hands them over.

Dean jingles them then puts them in his pocket.   _"I'm gonna let Cas know.  You should come in and wash up too."_

Garth looks down at himself with mild horror.  "Oh yeah! Babies probably don't like the smell of car oil, huh?"  He doesn't wait for an answer before practically running for the house.

Following him at a slightly more sedate pace, Dean laughs again.  It's hard not to be excited for Garth, even if it's underlined by by regret that Bobby isn't around to experience it too.  The thought sobers him slightly, but a smile still twitches at the corners of his mouth.  It comes back in full force when he gets inside just in time to see Castiel emerge from Bobby's old office.  It’s not unusual to find him in there scowling at Bobby’s filing system as he tries to figure everything out and set up a new system that’s less confusing.  It still makes Dean sad that Bobby is no longer in there bitching at his little TV while he manages his small business, but Dean enjoys seeing Castiel in there far more than he thought he would.  It doesn’t feel like Castiel is replacing Bobby.  He’s just sharing the old human’s space.

Castiel look up the stairs where Garth disappeared moments before, then turns a confused squint to Dean.  "What's that all about?"

 _“Bess is in labor,”_ Dean signs.   _“After he gets cleaned up, I’m driving him home.  You want to come too?”_

Castiel’s eyes widen.  “Would that… be alright?”

Dean closes the distance between them and hooks his arms loosely over Castiel’s shoulders.  He leans in and nuzzles his alpha’s soft beard, taking in the tart apple, earthy cedar, and sharp cinnamon wafting up from his skin.  Despite being deep in the heart of winter, Castiel still smells like autumn, and Dean wants to curl around his warmth and ignore the frigid temperatures outside.  He nods and leans close to Castiel’s ear so he won’t have to speak above a whisper.  “Yeah, Cas, it’ll be alright.”

He doesn’t realize the hidden meaning in his words until he speaks them, but Castiel catches it immediately.  He pulls back far enough to search Dean’s eyes with his own.  Dean stares right back, wanting Castiel to know that he believes what he said.  

It’ll be alright.   _He’ll_ be alright.  

He misses Bobby like a phantom limb, still forgetting that he’s gone sometimes.  Until he walks into the house when it’s empty, or when he goes into the office and finds Castiel behind the desk frowning at the paperwork instead of Bobby.  There are hundreds of little signs that Bobby is gone - no dirty dishes left in the sink, or empty whiskey bottles tucked into trash cans.  Dean doesn’t hear the motor for the stair lift at random times during the day.  The crappy little TV in the office isn’t on at all times, playing the news just loud enough to be heard from out in the hall.  

But the ache has become bearable.  A new part of his life.  He hopes it never fades completely, because it sometimes feels like the only sign that Bobby was ever there.  

Castiel must see Dean’s meaning, because he smiles gently and reaches up to run his thumb along Dean’s cheek.  “I would like to come along then.”

Clomping loudly down the stairs, Garth interrupts their moment.  He stops at the bottom and spreads his arms.  “Alright, how do I smell?”

Dean faces Garth and scents the air, letting his lips part so he can pull it in over his tongue as well.  There’s still the slightest hint of oil under the soap he used to clean his hands, but it shouldn’t cause a problem.  Besides, the kiddo is going to get used to it pretty quick since her daddy is a mechanic.  

Next to him, Castiel is sniffing at the air as well.  He comes to the same conclusion.  “You smell like an eager father,” he teases.  

“Well at least it’s the truth!” Garth drops his arms and heads for the door.  “You’re coming too, right Cas?”  He doesn’t wait for an answer as he disappears outside.

Dean pulls out his own keys to hand to Castiel, then signs _“follow us in my truck.”_ He shoots Castiel a wink before following Garth out the door.  

While Dean is driving, Garth sends off a text messages to everyone he thinks needs to know the baby is on the way.  It seems like the whole town has been notified by the time they get to Garth’s house.  

The midwife, a cheerful blonde omega named Donna, is already there when Dean pulls Garth’s truck into the drive behind her jeep.  Garth rushes ahead of him into the house, and Dean waits the few minutes it takes for Castiel to pull up at the curb.  They walk into the house together, not bothering to knock.  Bess' father Jim welcomes them in as soon as he spots them.  

He'd come up from the city the first week of the year to stay with his daughter. The newest member of the Fitzgerald family decided her due date was scheduled far too early and has taken a few extra weeks to arrive, so Jim has stuck around and taken over as pastor of the local church after Zachariah went on an unexpected sabbatical.  Dean vaguely remembers meeting him at Bobby's funeral.  He seems like an okay guy, and very soft spoken and gentle for an alpha.

Donna is assuring Garth that everything is going fine.  Bess is napping, and it’ll probably be several more hours before anything interesting happens.  When she’s done, Garth rushes into the room he shares with Bess.  Jim follows, leaving Dean and Castiel alone with the midwife.

“Well hello there, Dean,” Donna says brightly.  She gives him a tight hug, then pulls back and brushes his hair back from his forehead like he’s a five year old, and her expression is full of sympathy, but not in a creepy fake way like most people.  Everything comes straight and sincerely from the heart with Donna.  “I’m so sorry about Bobby.  You doing okay?  Jodes is still pretty broken up about it.”

He gives her a wobbly smile, and a thumbs up.  Donna hasn’t learned sign language yet, but they always manage to communicate just fine.  

Just as always, she understands him perfectly.  Her smile brightens again, and she gives his shoulders a squeeze before letting him go and turning to Castiel.  “And this must be your mate!  I’ve been hearing a lot about you.  Steve Castle, right?  I’m Donna.”

Blood rushes to Dean’s cheeks and he casts a worried look at Castiel.  The alpha is wide-eyed with surprise and just flushed as Dean feels.  

“Um, hello,” Castiel starts slowly.  “We’re not…” he glances at Dean, a question in his eyes.  But he quickly turns back to Donna.  “We’re not mated yet.”

 _Yet_.  Three little letters shouldn’t make Dean’s heart try to pound its way out of his chest, but damn if it doesn’t feel like a battering ram in there.

“Wouldn’t know it by the smell!” Donna exclaims just before she pulls Castiel into a hug as well.  Dean muffles a chuckle behind his fist at the confusion on his face.  She even rocks him a little bit before she lets him go.  “Well I’m glad to meet you anyway, Steve.”

Castiel smiles shyly.  “You can call me ‘Cas’.”

“Cas.”  Donna gives him a mock punch to the shoulder.  “I know it’s a bit late, but welcome to Silverton!”

Thankfully she doesn’t bring up the mating thing anymore.  She chat’s with Castiel, asking him all the usual questions about where he’s from, and what he did before moving to Silverton.  Castiel answers each one smoothly, although his scent does change a little.  If Donna notices she must think it’s because he’s shy or something because she seems to take everything he says at face value.

They’re interrupted by more guests arriving, and Donna takes the time to go check on her charge while Dean welcomes people to the house.  Weres treat childbirth as a community affair, although today it’s limited to people stopping by with gifts of food and baby supplies and greeting cards stuffed with cash.  Not many people stay long since the house is small and there isn't room for a crowd to gather.  At some point over the next few hours Dean and Castiel play host, so that Donna can do her job and Garth and Jim can be with Bess as her labor progresses.  

Sam and Eileen come by with Mildred and drop off a handmade baby blanket and a box of freshly baked lemon cookies that are Bess’ favorite.  Mildred smacks Dean’s hand when he tries to sneak one, but promises him she left some extra for him back at the house for later.  

“Are you going to stay?” Sam asks Dean just before he gathers up his wife and her aunt to take back to the B&B.  

 _“Garth was freaking out earlier,”_ Dean signs with a nod. _“And Jim is here for Bess.  I wanna stick around in case Garth needs me.”_

Sam shoots a glance at where Castiel has his head bent down to hear something Mildred is telling him.  “I guess that means Cas’ll be staying too.”

Dean also looks over at the alpha.  It’s probably Bess’ pheromones permeating the house that makes him want to go over and crawl in Castiel’s lap and nuzzle him, or it might be the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles at Mildred’s teasing.  Either way, it’s a nice feeling, and he’s glad Castiel is nearby.  He nods again in answer to his brother’s question.

When he looks back at Sam, his brother is watching him with an odd expression.  It’s soft, and happy, and in the past Dean might have bristled and told Sam to shove his sappy thoughts where the sun don’t shine.  But this time Dean just shrugs and returns his smile, cuz he’s feeling pretty damn sappy himself.  Sam claps him on the shoulder, and then goes to say goodbye to Castiel.  Dean hugs his sister-in-law and Mildred and waves to them as they leave.

The steady stream of guests eventually trickles away as it gets later in the evening.  Eventually Garth comes out of the room looking for food, his expression an odd combination of ecstatic and freaked out.

 _“You okay?”_ Dean asks.

Garth blinks at him, dazed.  “I’m going to be a dad.”

Castiel muffles a chuckle behind his hand, but Dean doesn’t bother to hide his mirth, laughing out loud.   _“Yeah, we kinda figured that out.”_

After Garth has a little bit to eat and goes back to join his wife, Dean tugs Castiel down on the couch and leans into him.  The smell of pregnant omega is thick in the house, and he blames it for making him crave cuddling.  Thankfully Castiel seems to be similarly affected, because he practically wraps himself around Dean.

“You ever been around when a baby is being born?” Dean whispers.

“I’ve been there for a few of my nieces and one of my nephews,” Castiel murmurs against Dean’s temple.  His lips are soft and warm against Dean’s skin.  “I never had much opportunity beyond that.  I was usually too busy.”

“I’ve been around for lots of new babies.”  Dean thinks back to all the children he’s seen brought into the world in Lucifer’s compound.  Despite how badly he always wanted to escape, those were always happy times.  “There were a lot of them in the compound.”

Castiel’s arms tighten around him, and his scent sours.  “Dean…”

“Those are good memories, Cas.  Celebrating new babies was one thing they knew how to do right.”

Castiel’s grip eases, and the sweetness comes back to his scent.  “I’m glad for that.”

“Yeah,” Dean says as he relaxes into Castiel’s arms.  “Me too.”

The passage of time is marked by Garth or Jim or Donna coming out of the room to give a status update every so often.  Bess is doing well, although she’s obviously not enjoying everything about the experience.  Donna thinks she’s probably got a few more hours to go.  

It’s shortly after midnight when the quiet of the evening is broken by a loud wail, first from Bess, then another a few minutes later from what sounds like a very strong set of new lungs.  Dean sits up and grins at Castiel.  Bess is a mama and Garth is a daddy, and the air is soupy with happy pheromones.

Garth comes rushing out of the room, hair and eyes wild, hands gesturing every which way.  He’s babbling, but Dean catches the words “girl” and “Karen” and manages to make out that Bess and Garth named their new daughter after Bobby’s late wife.  Tears flood his eyes and he pulls Garth into a tight hug.  He wants to tell him Bobby would be so proud of him, but the lump in his throat is swollen from crying and he knows he won’t get the words out.  But he thinks Garth knows anyway if his big goofy grin when he pulls away says anything.

A few minutes later Donna pokes her head out and invites everyone in to meet the newest Fitzgerald.  Castiel hesitates, but Dean grabs his hand and drags him into the room.  

Bess is sitting up in bed, cradling a little bundle of life against her chest.  She beams up at Garth, then at Dean and even Castiel hovering behind his shoulder.  “Hey guys… meet little Miss Karen.”

Dean bends over the edge of the bed to peek at the pink-faced baby girl.  She blinks up at him with blue beta eyes, and his muscles go weak with relief.  If she’d had alpha red, or omega gold, her family would have to worry about her being snatched away to be kept in a breeding camp.

Then he remembers that the camps are being dismantled.  Lucifer’s cult is being torn down piece by piece.  

Little Karen Fitzgerald is safe.

He looks over at Castiel who is staring down at the new baby with so much tenderness that Dean practically feels his entire reproductive system pulse with want.  He reaches out and tangles his fingers together with Castiel’s, smiling when the alpha looks up at him.  

 _“Thank you,”_ he mouths.  Castiel cocks his head in question, but Dean only squeezes his fingers tighter and turns his attention back to the proud new parents.

***

By the time Dean and Castiel drag their tired bodies up the stairs of the B&B toward their shared room, it is just past two in the morning.  They hadn't stayed long after the birth.  Everyone involved was exhausted and ready for many hours of sleep, but despite Garth's offer to set them up with an air mattress in the livingroom, Dean had made the decision to get home to his own room.  He appreciates that Garth wanted to share the happy atmosphere Bess' pheromones had created, but a warning itch under his skin and Castiel's sudden twitching told him that their cycle is probably going to start a little early because of the few hours of exposure they'd already had.

The itch turns to a low simmer when he watches Castiel undress in preparation for bed.  Dean eyes trace the bunch and flex of Castiel’s muscles as he pulls off his shirts while toeing off his shoes and socks.  His mouth starts to water when Castiel shucks his pants, and he waits, breath held, to see if Cas is going to get completely naked yet.

He’s crossing his fingers and hoping for naked.

Castiel’s head lifts and he scents the air before turning to look at Dean over his shoulder.  His eyes go dark, and Dean knows that he must be putting off some serious _come fuck me_ pheromones because the whole atmosphere in the room changes.  The air thickens with the scent of arousal, and it’s not just Dean’s.  

“Are you coming to bed with your clothes on?” Castiel asks, casual, as if Dean isn’t staring at him like a piece of warm pecan pie.

In his fascination with Castiel, Dean had forgotten his own clothes.  He fixes that quickly, shedding layers so fast that Castiel laughs at him.  But he’s naked in less than a minute, and Castiel is still wearing his damn boxers, and that’s just not right.  Dean prowls toward him and shoves him down on the bed before hooking his fingers in the waistband of Castiel’s underwear and pulling them roughly down over his hips.  

Castiel helps by pulling his legs free, then spreads them in a clear invitation for Dean to get between them.  Dean accepts, kneeling down on the mattress before draping himself over Castiel’s chest.  They’re both half hard, but that’s a situation that’s improving by the second as they lie skin to skin.  

Dean runs his nose along Castiel’s collarbone, inhaling his apple-barrel scent.  The underlying cinnamon reminds Dean of the warm apple cider they drank with Christmas dinner, and the fresh apple pies Mildred had made for Thanksgiving.  It’s almost unbelievable that it’s only been a few months since Castiel came into his life, but he’s already thoroughly enmeshed in Dean’s family traditions.  He can’t imagine not having Castiel be there for Easter, and Independence day, and every holiday for the rest of their lives.  

Long fingers brush through Dean’s hair, and Castiel’s voice is a rough purr.  “Dean?  Are you alright?”

“I’m damn good right now, Cas.” He grinds his hips down, relishing Castiel’s low moan when their dicks slide against each other.  “How ‘bout you?”

This time when he speaks, Castiel’s voice is pitched a little higher.  Breathier.  “I’m a little horny, to be honest.”

Dean chuckles, glad to know that he’s not the only one experiencing the fun side effects of breathing in birthing pheromones all day.  Best aphrodisiac on the planet, to be honest.  He props himself up on his elbows and grins down at his alpha.  “Me too.  Think we should do something about it?”

“Do you have something in mind?”

Leaning down, Dean runs the tip of his tongue over Castiel’s bottom lip, staying just out of reach when the alpha tries to surge up for a kiss.  “Hell yeah, Cas.  I think you should knot me.”

Castiel’s smile is all in his eyes, but it’s molten hot and Dean feels the heat all the way to the tips of every single one of his extremities.  Every. Single. One.

Dean yelps when the world tilts on its axis.  He has to blink away a moment of mild vertigo caused by suddenly looking up at Castiel instead of down.  The alpha grins down at him, fangs glinting.  “I can do that.”

And then he’s kissing Dean like both their lives depend on it, and holy shit, their lives _might_ depend on it.  Dean opens to Castiel’s tongue, groaning as it slides and twists against his own.  It’s almost enough to distract him from what Castiel is doing with his hands, but what he’s doing is so damn nice, that Dean definitely notices.  They swipe down his sides, leaving goosebumps trailing over his ribs, then along the insides of his thighs.  Castiel’s palms stop against the back of Dean’s knees and then they’re being pushed up and out and Dean is whining at the loss of Castiel’s mouth against his own.  At least until that mouth presses against his hole, licking at the slick already starting to leak from him.  

Castiel spears him open with his tongue and Dean does his best to open his legs even wider, giving him as much access as he needs.  His brain is trying desperately to keep up with Castiel’s shift from zero to ten, but his body is already revved up to eleven and he wants his alpha in him _now._

Thankfully he doesn’t have to find the words to articulate his body’s demand because Castiel is on the same page.  Castiel flattens his tongue, licking a slow path from Dean’s hole, up over his balls, and the entire length of his dick.  Then he sits up on his knees, grabs Dean’s hips and hauls him close enough that he can guide the head of his swollen cock between Dean’s slick ass cheeks.  

Dean throws his head back on the sheets, gnashing his teeth together as he’s breached.  His legs go limp, and Castiel cups one behind the knee and props it over his shoulder.  Dean gasps when he feels warm lips against his calf followed by the sting of teeth.  The bite isn’t hard enough to break the skin, but there’s going to be a mark left there for sure.

And then Castiel is moving, his hips and stomach undulating as he rocks into Dean over and over.  With Dean’s hips propped up on Castiel’s knees, the position is just perfect for Cas to fuck right into his sweet spot.  Starbursts of color flash behind Dean’s eyes with each thrust, and he doesn’t even consider touching his dick.  He’s too sensitive, inside and out, and that kind of stimulation might destroy him, breaking him into a million tiny pieces.

Castiel drops Dean’s leg and leans forward, fists braced on the mattress to either side of Dean’s head, and he starts fucking deeper and harder.  His knot is already swelling, tugging Dean’s rim just enough to make him feel the stretch, but not catching yet.  

“Dean.”

A particularly well aimed thrust makes Dean scrabble at Castiel’s arms, trying to pull him closer.  He needs more contact, more heat, more _Cas._

“Dean, look at me.”

He doesn’t realize his eyes are closed until he has to will them open to look up at his alpha.  Castiel’s hair is damp with sweat, and his eyes dark and wild.  His teeth are bared, the fangs sharp and threatening when viewed from this angle.  

As soon as their eyes meet, Castiel’s knot pops past Dean’s rim and swells completely, locking him in place.  Dean’s spine arches, and his neglected dick spasms.  Hot come splatters against his belly and his chest, and his ass clamps down on Castiel’s knot.  Satisfaction fills him when he sees Castiel’s eyes flutter, and his mouth open wide with a wordless gasp.  And then Castiel is filling him, pulse after pulse of wet heat.  

“Oh fuck,” Dean gasps when he realizes that he can feel Castiel’s come inside him.  But he doesn’t have time to think about it because the realization that Castiel just knotted him bare makes him come again.  

Castiel collapses on top of him, knocking the air out of his lungs.  Strong arms slide under his shoulders, separating him from the mattress, but crushing him against Castiel’s chest.  The alpha bites down on Dean’s shoulder, and the sting makes him cry out.  Another pulse of ecstasy flashes through him, and Dean’s whole body goes tight, struggling against the overstimulation.  But he’s held fast, subdued by the alpha looming over and around him.

Eventually his body relaxes, and Castiel’s grip on him loosens.  Able to breathe more deeply, Dean pulls in oxygen and the smell of mate and sex, mingled in a way they never have been before.   

Castiel’s jaw loosens, and he licks the place he bit before lifting his head.  He eyes the spot for a long moment before meeting Dean’s eyes.  The area throbs with Dean’s heartbeat, but there’s no copper on the air.  No blood because Castiel’s teeth didn’t breech Dean’s skin.

No blood bond yet.  Dean isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed.  

Okay, he might be leaning slightly toward disappointed.  

But at the moment he’s got something more important to think about, and he can tell by Castiel’s expression that the alpha is just now realizing that they’re knotted without the protective barrier of a condom.  His eyes go wide, and he pushes himself up on his hands so he can look down at where their bodies are still joined.

“Oh gods, Dean,” Castiel gasps.  He looks up at Dean, stricken with something that looks like dawning horror.  “I’m so sorry… I forgot.  I wasn’t thinking and-”

Despite the fact that his arm muscles feel like noodles boiled well past al dente, Dean manages to lift a hand and slap it over Castiel’s mouth.  “Don’t,” he says simply.

Castiel’s eyes stay wide and worried, flicking back and forth between Dean’s.  

“I’m not upset.” Dean moves his hand from Castiel’s mouth, and slides it back into his hair, cupping the back of his head and pulling him back down.  The slick mess of come between their bellies is slightly uncomfortable, but Castiel’s weight feels amazing.  He stares up at Castiel from just a few inches away, most of his field of vision filled with lake-blue tinged with purple near the pupil.  

“You asked me if I ever wanted kids,” he says quietly, enjoying the feel of their hearts beating against each other.  “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.”

Castiel stares down at him for a long time.  After a minute or so he sighs and drops his head so it’s resting on Dean’s shoulder, right on the sore spot from his teeth.  “Are you sure?  I wouldn’t want you to suffer the consequences of my error.”

“First of all,” Dean says softly, as he cards his fingers through Castiel’s hair, “Don’t do that.  It isn’t your fault.  We were both high and horny and we _both_ forgot.”

“But-”

Dean cuts him off.  “And _second;_ I meant what I said.  If it happens, it happens, and I’m not going to be unhappy about it.  Okay?”  When Castiel doesn’t respond for a few heartbeats, Dean gently tugs at his hair.  “Okay, Cas?”

Castiel’s scent thickens so much that Dean can practically taste it.  He presses his face into Dean’s neck, and takes a shuddering breath.  His body practically radiates _happy alpha._  “Okay, Dean.”

Dean hooks his ankles over Castiel’s calves, and wraps both arms around his shoulders.  He nuzzles at Castiel’s temple and traces random patterns between his shoulders while they wait for his knot to go down.  And Dean allows himself, just for a little bit, to imagine his belly swelling with life.  And then seeing Castiel cuddling a dark haired infant close to his heart.  Or maybe it would have the same white blonde curls Dean did when he was little.  

He dreams of finding Lydia and their daughter sometimes.  He’d searched for her.  Every time he went on a raid to rescue kidnapped children, he kept his eyes open for one that might have been his own.  But since he didn’t know whether his child was a boy or girl, or anything else about them, he never knew what to look for.  And he never saw Lydia again.  

He’d still like to find her someday.  To meet his child, and learn their name at the very least.  But it’s been so long, that he doesn’t think it’ll ever happen.  Especially now that the camps are being disbanded, and the children disbursed back to their families.  Lydia is an adult now, in her mid-thirties, so she wouldn’t have to go back to her family.  She could take their child anywhere and disappear forever.  

His heart aches at the thought, but is soothed by the idea that there might be a new soul flickering to life inside his womb.  He may never meet Lydia or their child ever again, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have a new family.  An alpha that probably loves him - Castiel hasn’t said anything yet, but Dean’s not stupid, he knows heart eyes when he sees them - and a child created from a happy and consensual union, instead of one forced on them by religious fanatics.   

Yeah, he might not have expected to think about starting a new family so soon.  But he’s definitely not opposed to the idea.  In fact, the more he thinks about it, the more he likes it.  He’s not in full heat yet, so chances that he’s pregnant are slim, especially since he never got pregnant during the two years he spent with Lydia.  But there’s still a tiny spark of hope blooming inside him.  His breath catches with it, and his chest begins to vibrate with a contented purr.

Castiel’s deeper rumble rises up too, and Dean smiles against his hair and holds him tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't forgotten about Zachariah, even if it seems like everyone else has ;D


	19. Chapter 19

Dean wakes slowly, feeling far too hot for comfort.  He tries to stretch sluggish muscles and to kick off the blanket to alleviate the stifling heat, but it's difficult when he's also tangled in the limbs of his…

His sleepy brain searches for the right word.  Boyfriend? Partner? Lover?  All of the above?

_Mate._

He yawns widely, ending on a soft groan, and turns his face into Castiel's messy hair.  Nuzzling the soft strands, he pulls in Castiel's mulled cider scent and despite the fact that his skin is clammy where they are pressed together, he snuggles closer to his alpha.  

His movements are slow but it's enough to disturb Castiel.  He grumbles wordlessly and rubs his face against Dean's chest.  His beard tickles slightly, but not enough to make Dean protest.  A few seconds later he starts purring.

“Mornin’, Sunshine,” Dean murmurs.

Castiel's answer is a slight increase in volume.  His deep purr rumbles in the silence of the room.  Dean smiles and presses a kiss into Castiel's hair.

Their sleepy cuddling is interrupted a few minutes later when the alarm clock blares to life, reminding them both that they have work to do today.  Castiel is opening the store for Nora and Dean has an alignment job waiting for him at the garage.  Castiel's purr cuts off and he curses under his breath.  Dean silently agrees, but he chuckles and rolls to the side so he can reach the alarm's snooze button.

“Nine minutes, Cas.”

There's an annoyed huff and then Castiel is pulling him back into his arms.  “Nine minutes is a ridiculous snooze time,” he grumbles against Dean's throat.  “Why not ten?”

Even though he's still too hot to be comfortable cuddling, Dean wraps an arm around Castiel's waist.  “Someone probably thought that question would wake people up while they try to figure it out.”

_“Monster.”_

Castiel’s voice is so full of horror and disgust that Dean laughs out loud.  It jostles Castiel enough to unbury his face from Dean’s neck.  In the thin light filtering through the curtains, he blinks up at Dean grumpily.  His pout soon melts away into a smile.

Despite the fact that they’re both rocking the nasty morning breath Dean leans in to kiss him.  Just a press of their lips together, he’s not going to be gross.  Or at least that’s the plan, but Castiel doesn’t seem to be on board with a simple good morning peck on the lips.  He deepens it immediately and Dean doesn’t actually mind all that much.  The mustiness is quickly gone, overwhelmed by the tangy apple-cinnamon of his pheromones.

Castiel shifts, straightening his spine, bringing his hips up against Dean’s.  The hard length of his morning wood brushes against Dean’s groin, and he moans.  

Dean’s totally on board with the idea of a lazy grind session.  He rolls onto his back, pulling Castiel with him and spreading his legs for the alpha to settle between them.  His own erection slides through Castiel’s pubic hair before slotting next to the alpha’s larger cock.  He bends his knees, bracing his feet on the mattress so he can leverage himself against it.  Castiel growls low in his throat and rolls his hips down.  Pre-come smears against Dean’s belly, mixing with the sweat already dampening his skin.

And of course the alarm goes off against just as they’re really getting into it.  Dean laughs when Castiel lets out a vicious snarl before slapping his hand down on the snooze button.  “Dude!  Don’t go breaking my stuff!”

“If I wanted to break it, it would be across the room in pieces.”  Castiel leans over Dean, bracing his hands to either side of his head, and scowls.  “Why isn’t today a national holiday?”

“Valentine’s Day is a Hallmark conspiracy, Cas.”  Dean reaches up and smoothes Castiel’s hair back from his forehead.  He needs to get it cut, but he hasn’t seemed interested in that kind of grooming since he moved to Silverton.  Dean guesses he hasn’t had much opportunity to be lazy about the length of his hair in his previous life.  Now that he’s not putting on two thousand dollar suits, fancy ties and shoes, and walking into board rooms, he seems content with looking like a scruffy hippy.

Dean likes it.  Castiel was sexy when Dean found him on the side of the road in a broken down Mercedes, but he’s downright gorgeous with his lazy smile and his comfortable clothes.  Boardroom god, or scruffy mongrel, he’s hot as fuck.  But what he really likes is seeing how relaxed Castiel is.  Over the last few months he's seen tension leak out of Castiel's body, he's seen his smiles grow larger and more frequent, and he's seen Castiel's Novak facade break away piece by piece.  Dean didn't know Castiel in his previous life, but he likes to think that the new one he's made for himself with Dean makes him happier than he's ever been.

And yeah that may be sappy as fuck, but it _is_ Valentine's day, and maybe Dean is feeling just a tiny bit romantic at the moment.

Castiel sits up, straddling Dean’s hips.  The blanket falls down around their legs and cool air washes over Dean.  Castiel’s hands feel hot when he slides them over Dean’s chest and hums thoughtfully.  “I don’t know, it has its charms.”

“It’s not really my thing,” Dean says with a grin.  He may be feeling romantic, but that doesn't mean he's going to admit it out loud.  “But I’m up for Valentine’s sex if you are.  We could even light candles if you want to make it special.”  He pushes his hips up into Castiel's and bounces his eyebrows suggestively.

Castiel nods thoughtfully.  "That sounds like an excellent plan."  He smiles and the teasing sparkle in his eyes warms to something far more warm and intimate.  "But it'll be special because I'll be with you."

Several months ago hearing words like that, spoken so sincerely would have made Dean squirm uncomfortably and start planning an exit strategy.  But somewhere along the way Castiel's words became Dean's truth as well, and he isn't scared of it.

That doesn't mean he's going to get all sappy about it though.  "So... candles or no candles?  I gotta know if I need to dig up a fire extinguisher."  He winks.  "Safety first."

Castiel rolls his eyes but he leans down and drops a quick kiss on Dean's lips.  "Maybe not that many candles," he says before capturing Dean's mouth in a deeper kiss.  One that is downright filthy, with tongue and teeth and aggression.

And then the fucking alarm goes off again.  This time it's Dean threatening to break the damn thing, but Castiel only laughs and turns it off completely before rolling off the bed to get ready for work because he's an _asshole_ who obviously doesn't care at all about Dean's painfully hard dick and slick, empty ass.  He interrupts Dean's grumbling by smacking him lightly on the flank and reminding him they have the next day and after work they can literally fuck all night if they want to.

"I'm holding you to that," Dean threatens as he gets out of bed and follows Castiel into the bathroom to brush his teeth.  Technically Dean doesn't have to be at work as early as Castiel since he makes his own hours, but he enjoys getting in his way while they both get ready.  

They go downstairs together to eat breakfast in the kitchen while the B&B guests fill up the main dining room.  They're standing shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen island eating from the same plate when Sam comes in with some empty dishes to deposit in the sink.

"Mornin', guys," he greets cheerfully.

Dean waves without looking up from his meal, and Castiel greets him for both of them.  "Good morning, Sam."

After he's scraped the dishes mostly clean, Sam turns back to them.  "You guys have anything special planned tonight?"

Dean lifts his hands to sign a reminder to Sam that he's not really a Valentine's kinda guy, but Castiel beats him to an answer.  

"We're going to have loud, vigorous sex, and probably experiment with wax play."  When Dean snaps his head around to stare at him Castiel lifts an eyebrow.  "That's why you suggested the candles, right?"  His innocent look melts into a smirk and he leans in to kiss him on the cheek.  "I need to get out of here so I'm not late.  See you tonight."  He grabs the last sausage link on their shared plate and nods at Sam on his way out of the kitchen.

Sam's laughter makes Dean snap his sagging jaw shut and give his giant little brother an icy glare.  

"Dude, I don't care what you two get up to in the privacy of your room," Sam says with a grin, "but don't burn down the house with the candles, okay?"

Dean flips him off before signing his rejoinder.   _"Whatever, you're just jealous I'm having wild kinky sex tonight."_

"You think there aren't any candles hidden up in my room?"  Sam leans back against the counter with a smirk.

_"Gross."_

"I mean, Eileen's got some more interesting things stashed in our toy box.  If you want some suggestions for some _really_ kinky-"

The threat of being overheard by the B&B guests on the other side of the door isn’t enough to keep Dean silent.   _"_ Seriously, Sam?   _Gross!"_

Sam starts laughing so hard he can barely breathe, and Dean's just about to tell him to fuck off when the door to the dining room swings open.  Eileen’s sweet scent precedes her, and both Winchester brothers snap to attention.  She smiles at them, and Dean thinks there’s something to be said about pregnancy giving people a glow, because she’s been a ray of sunshine since her scent changed a few days before.  

Like most of the Weres that had visited the Fitzgerald household while Bess was giving birth, she and Sam had gone into spontaneous cycle.  And after five years of marriage, they were finally having a baby.  

Watching Sam fawn over her, taking the dishes from her and asking if she needs anything, while Eileen rolls her eyes fondly over his fussing, makes Dean’s heart soar with joy for them.  He’s so damn thrilled it almost hurts.  Sam is going to be an amazing dad.  Eileen is going to be the perfect mother.  Dean is probably biased, but who gives a fuck.  Sam and Eileen are going to be _parents_ and that is _awesome._

And he wonders for the millionth time since he and Castiel forgot to use a condom if his own scent is going to change soon.  It’s hard to tell if it’s going to happen or not because his scent has already changed slightly over the last few months.  Will he even recognize it if it happens?

The thought plagues him as he finishes his breakfast and says goodbye before leaving for the salvage yard.  He tries not to sniff at himself as he works, trying to catch a change in his pheromones through the scent of oil and tires permeating the garage.  He manages to put it from his mind, just like he has every day for the last few weeks.

Mostly.  

It’s just past noon when he takes a break for something to eat.  He heads into the house to raid the fridge, but decides to detour to the bathroom to tap a kidney first.  He’s reaching for his fly when his eyes fall on the plain cardboard box sitting on the toilet’s tank.  It’s flaps are still taped closed, and he can see his name on the shipping label.

Without conscious input from his brain, his hand reaches for the box.  He pulls off the tape and folds back the flaps and looks at the contents for a long moment.  The purple and white packaging of the object inside is simple and unflashy, and yet it almost hurts his eyes to look at it.  

He’d ordered it as soon as his last heat had ended - a full _six days_ after it started thanks to his exposure to Bess’ hormones - and it had shown up in two days, but this is the first time he’s opened the box since he received it.  A pregnancy test isn’t usually necessary for an omega since their pheromones change within the first month of conception, but he’d bought it anyway.  Ordered online so he wouldn’t have to go into a local store and face questions from anyone he’s acquainted with.  And so the news wouldn’t get back to Castiel.

He’s not sure why he wants to hide the test from Cas, because it’s been on the alpha’s mind just as much as it’s been on Dean’s.  Not that Castiel has said anything.  Neither of them have.  But Dean has caught Castiel watching him a little closer.  Scenting him a little more often.  Especially after Eileen’s scent had changed, because if Dean is also pregnant then his hormones should start adjusting any day now.

Buying the test was stupid.  He’ll know soon whether he’s pregnant or not because of his Were biology.

His bladder twinges, reminding him of the reason he came in here in the first place.  Without another thought, he pulls out the pregnancy test and rips the packaging open, tossing it on the counter to read over in a minute.  He knows how the damn thing works.  

He does it before he can talk himself out of it, and when he’s done relieving himself, he puts the toilet lid down and sits on it.  He grabs the box and reads the directions.  Yep, pee on stick.  Wait for the results.  Simple.

Three minutes seem to take an hour to pass, but when they’re over he doesn’t look at the test’s display.  He rubs a hand over his face, and wonders what the fuck he’s going to do when he finds out the results, whether it’s positive or negative.  He’s not sure how he’s going to feel either way.  He _wants_ children, but he’s thirty-two, and he’s still not sure if he’s ready.

With a soft curse, he man’s up and looks down at the test’s display.

***

“No no, I understand.  If you can’t make it, I can reschedule.  Uh huh.  Thanks for letting me know.”

Castiel wasn’t deliberately listening to Nora’s phone conversation, but the disappointment in her voice just before she hung up catches his attention.  He puts down the box he’s carrying and approaches the checkout counter she’s standing behind.  “Is everything okay, Nora?”

She sighs, and it’s obvious that she’s not okay, but her smile is genuine if a bit wan.  “Yeah, it’s fine.”  When he lifts his eyebrows at her in silent disagreement, she laughs and shrugs.  “Okay, I’m just a little bummed because I have to cancel my date for tonight.”

This is the first he’s heard anything about Nora dating someone.  Not that it’s his business of course, but they’ve become close enough as friends that he knows that she’d left Tanya’s human father because he’d been upset to find out she was a Were.  He was a species purist, and wouldn’t have anything to do with their daughter because he thought she was some kind of beast hybrid.

Human species purists are common, and Castiel usually just ignored them in the past because at least they’re not as bad as Lucifer’s cultists.  But if he ever gets a chance to meet Tanya’s father, he plans on knocking at least a third of his teeth out.  

The fact that Nora has found someone that she thinks is worth seeing after receiving a rejection like that is wonderful and he’s very happy for her.  Or at least he would be, if she didn’t look so disappointed.  “Why do you have to cancel?” he asks.

“Oh, you know.” Nora waves a hand, probably going for nonchalant, but not quite succeeding.  “Babysitter issues.  The constant plight of every single parent.”

He’s silent for a moment, and Nora goes back to counting out the register in preparation for closing the store.  Normally he wouldn’t hesitate to offer his services as a backup babysitter because it’s something he’s come to enjoy.  More than he ever thought he would.  But it _is_ Valentine’s day, and while he and Dean don’t exactly have plans, he was hoping they could still spend most of the evening together.

But they do have the weekend together, and Dean has expressed that he doesn’t really care about the holiday all that much.  And Nora looks so disappointed.

He can’t make the decision on his own, though.  He pulls out his phone and sends a message off to Dean, asking if he’d mind if they spent a few hours that evening watching Tanya.  The response comes back in less than a minute.

Dean:   _Yeah sure_

Dean:   _But you owe me candles_

Dean:   _I’m holding you to that wax play stuff_

Castiel grins at his screen.  The “wax play stuff” had been a joke, but if Dean is interested….

Dean:   _This alignment job turned out to be a lot more complicated than I’d planned for.  The whole control arm needs to be replaced and it’s a bitch job without Garth here._

Castiel has no idea what a control arm is, but he barely knows how to check his oil or his tire pressure.  He only learned recently when Dean found out that his basic knowledge of car maintenance was, as Dean put it, _criminally_ lacking and took it upon himself to give Castiel some lessons _._  

He sends Dean a quick thank you message with a promise to make it up to him with or without candles and then pockets his phone.  Nora looks up at him in surprise when he approaches the counter.  “Don’t cancel your date,” he says.  “I’ll watch Tanya.”

She lights up.  “Really?”

“You deserve a night out.  I’m happy to help.”

Her smile is worth delaying his time with Dean for a few hours.  “Thank you, Cas.  You’re such a good friend.”

The word friend makes his cheeks go warm.  Just a few short months ago, it was a word that applied to very few people.  But he’s made more friends in the few short months he’s lived in Silverton than he has in the whole 40 years of his previous life.  

“And Dean is welcome to come over too,” Nora adds.  “I don’t want to take up your whole Valentine’s day.”

“Thank you,” he says with a smile.  “I promise we’ll be on our best behavior.”

She snorts and waves a dismissive hand.  “You always are.  I trust you guys.”

Trust is another thing that Castiel has found with the residents of Silverton that he doesn’t feel like he experienced very often before.  It’s not that he thinks people didn’t trust him, but he’s not really sure that they _did._  He hopes that Balthazar did, at the very least, but it’s not something that has ever been brought up before.  Here, with his new friends, he _feels_ their trust.

Together they close up the store, and Castiel heads home to change out of his work clothes.  He doesn’t have to be at Nora’s for another hour, so he takes the time to shower.  He picks out his softest pair of jeans and one of Dean’s henleys.  Since Nora’s house isn’t too far away, he pulls on a hoodie and a coat for warmth and walks to her house since Dean will be able to drive him home later when it’s dark and too cold to be outside.

He’s spent enough evenings with Tanya that she recognizes him when Nora invites him in, and she immediately holds out her arms to him.  He easily gives in to her non-verbal commands to be held, picking her up from her playpen and spinning her around until she giggles with delight.  He holds her while Nora kisses her goodbye, and he helps Tanya wave goodbye to her when she leaves for her date.  

After he shuts the door, he looks down at the tiny omega in his arms.  “I don’t know, Miss Tanya.  I think it’s probably not a good sign that he didn’t come to pick her up for the date.  What do you think?”

Tanya babbles and waves her arms around in what he’s sure is agreement.  

He bounces her slightly and leans in to scent her temple, loving the sweet baby smell.  “Yeah, it’s strike one, but your mommy deserves a night out anyway,” he says as he carries Tanya back into the living room.  “We’ll give them the benefit of the doubt.”

They settle down on the floor, and he pulls out rattles and chew toys to keep Tanya entertained until it’s time to put her down for bed.  It’s a good way to keep them both busy while he waits for Dean to show up.  

He’s much better at this babysitting thing than he used to be.  It’s only been a few months, but he’s starting to get the hang of it.  And he really enjoys it.  Even when Tanya gets fussy or when he has to change a diaper.

Watching her scooch across the floor on her belly in pursuit of a stuffed lion at the far end of the blanket he’d put down for her fills him with yearning.  His mind wanders, conjuring vague images of himself watching over a child of his own.  A little golden-eyed girl, or a blue-eyed boy.  Maybe a red-eyed alpha boy with Dean’s light brown hair and genetic predisposition toward freckles.  He pictures Dean, belly swollen and smile bright with joy, and he wonders what it would feel like to hold his omega close enough that he can feel the kick of tiny feet under Dean’s skin.  

He _wants_ that.  But does Dean?  He’d said he’d be okay with it if it happened, but that’s not the same as _wanting_ it.  After they spent twenty minutes tied together without the protection of a condom, they’d been more careful.  Their cycle had lasted nearly a week thanks to being triggered early because of their exposure to Bess’ birthing hormones, and that first time had been the only one they’d skipped the condom.  Dean had joked that it was a little bit like closing the barn doors after the horses escaped, but it’s one thing to forget.  It’s a whole other thing to deliberately tempt fate repeatedly while Dean was most fertile.  

They may be willing to accept having children together, but they’re not trying for it.  They’re not mated, and they haven’t really talked about what their relationship is going to be in the long term.

Castiel knows what he wants it to be.  In his heart he’s already pledged to Dean.  The green-eyed omega _is_ his mate as far as he’s concerned, despite the lack of a blood bond.  They’re already scent bonded, and that’s as far as many Weres take their relationships.  A mating bite isn’t necessary.

Especially since he loves Dean with his whole heart and soul already.  He hasn’t said it yet.  The time hasn’t felt right.  But it’s true nonetheless.  No matter what Dean feels, Castiel is committed, and his future is in Silverton for as long as Dean will have him.  

His thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door.  He smiles brightly at Tanya.  “Uncle Dean is here, Miss Tanya.  Will you stay put for a minute while I go let him in?”

Tanya gurgles and continues to pull herself closer to the stuffed lion.  So he picks it up and puts within her reach so it’ll keep her busy for the few minutes it’ll take him to let Dean in.  

He twists the knob on the deadbolt and swings the door open.  “I don’t know what a control arm is, but y-”

He’s cut off when the door is shoved open, slamming into his shoulder and knocking him back a step.  It takes him a few seconds to register that the man on the other side is _not_ Dean, but when he’s blinking into the barrel of the gun pointed in his face, it’s pretty clear that this is definitely an enemy.  

“Hello, Castiel.”  The young alpha holding the gun shuts the door behind him, and glances around.  “Squalid little dump.  It’s a quite a step down from the lifestyle of a Novak, isn’t it?”

He’s familiar, and it doesn’t take Castiel long to remember where he knows the man from.  He’s got a large enough family that he’s not fully acquainted with every cousin, but he remembers Ephraim from several important family functions.  There’s a large gap in their age, so Castiel never got to know him very well.  

“Ephraim?  What are you doing here?”  It’s a silly question.  He knows the answer, but he’s trying to stall until he can figure out a safe way to disarm him.

“You remember my name.”  Ephraim’s blank expression slips and he smiles almost pleasantly.  “I was just a nobody when we met.”

Castiel frowns.  Ephraim had been something of a wallflower, but it wouldn’t be accurate to call him a nobody.  Not when Michael had pointed him out and talked at length about how the young Novak cousin was shaping up to be an upstanding member of the family.  Michael had been planning on taking the boy under his wing and giving him a position in the company once Ephraim was finished with his education.  Apparently Michael had done more than give him an office job.  Fanaticism shines in Ephraim’s eyes, and there’s really only one thing he can be here for.  

Tanya, confused by the commotion at the door, and upset at being ignored let’s out an unhappy sound, bringing Ephraim’s attention to her.  Castiel steps to the side, cutting off his cousin’s view of the little omega.  “Don’t touch her,” he commands in his best courtroom voice.

Ephraim snorts.  He keeps the gun pointed directly at Castiel’s heart.  “You think I came for her?  No, I came for you.”

That’s more than obvious.  But Ephraim hasn’t pulled the trigger yet.  If Castiel can keep him from doing so for long enough, he might find a way to keep him from doing it at all.  He can’t fight Ephraim while there’s a gun on him, especially not with Tanya nearby.  But Castiel _is_ a lawyer.  Maybe he can talk his way through this.  Ephraim is young, probably impressionable.  All Castiel has to do is convince him that Michael and Lucifer are madmen.

Yeah, that shouldn’t be too difficult.

“How did you find me?” he asks.

Ephraim’s mouth twists as if he tastes something foul.  “A tip.  From a someone who thought he could buy his way into Lucifer’s inner circle with some useful information.”

Zachariah.  Fuck, Castiel should have told someone about the pastor.  But at first he’d been too distracted and forgot about him.  And then as time passed and nothing happened, he began to think that nothing ever would.  Which he sees now was foolish.  He doesn’t have time to berate himself though.  For now, he has to find a way out of the mess he made.  And words are currently his only weapon.  “I take it you don’t believe he’s worthy?”

“Worthy?  That thin blooded scum doesn’t deserve to exist.”  Ephraim smiles, and it’s so cold that Castiel shivers at the sight.  “But he’s been removed from the gene pool, so our people won’t be tainted by his weakness.”

Which mean’s Zachariah is dead.  Castiel feels a twinge of guilt.  He didn’t like Zachariah, or his beliefs, but he didn’t want the beta’s life to be ended prematurely.  He shakes his head sadly.  Any hope that he had that Ephraim might be talked around to another, more open-minded point of view fades away.  “You really think you’re doing the work of the gods?”

“The gods have chosen me as their weapon,” Ephraim says, voice trembling with fanaticism.  His eyes are wide and glazed with the same madness that Castiel used to see in Lucifer’s eyes before he disappeared to build his cult.  “My hands are guided by Fenrir and Luna.  I cut away the chaff of our species so that it may grow stronger than ever.”

“You’re not a weapon, Ephraim.” Castiel says softly.  “You’re a person.  And you don’t deserve to be turned into a murderer for a madman’s cause.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.  Ephraim’s face contorts with rage and he shoves the gun forward, tightening his finger on the trigger.  “ _Do not speak of Him that way_ ,” he hisses.  A sneer twists his lips, and he looks Castiel up and down, his expression saying that he finds the older alpha wanting.  “Look at you.  You’re a Novak, and yet you’re hiding away in this little armpit of a town in the middle of nowhere, denying your true legacy.  Burying your head in the sand, when your people need you the most.  You should be taking on the mantle of leadership, not debasing yourself by working for a thin-blood and its tainted offspring.”

“Nora is my friend,” Castiel says quietly, but with the command of an alpha.  “You will be respectful of her.”

Ephraim ignores the warning in his tone.  “You know, I used to admire you.  Until I found out that you turned on your own family.  Now I see that you’re no better than a beta.  You’re weak, and your blood would taint our people’s bloodline.”

Castiel’s heart, already galloping, beats in overdrive.  Ephraim’s aim hasn’t wavered, and logic isn’t going to convince him to lower the gun.  “Please,” he says.  “Just put the gun away and leave.  I’m nothing to you.  To my brothers.”

“It’s because of you,” Ephraim says with deadly calm, “that our prophet has been taken from his sacred duty.  Michael is right.  Vengeance is-”

A knock cuts him off, and Ephraim swings around just as the door begins to swing open behind him.  Seeing his only chance, Castiel takes it.  He jumps forward, tackling Ephraim to the ground.  

The next few minutes is a flurry of punches and kicks and struggling for possession of the gun.  Ephraim is an alpha, but he’s slightly smaller than Castiel.  It’s not much of an advantage but Castiel uses it.  In a matter of seconds he’s got Ephraim under him, and the gun is twisting in the direction of the younger alpha.  

Ephraim’s finger is still on the trigger, but Castiel leans on the grip he has on the younger alpha’s wrists.  He let’s his body drop, forcing Ephraim’s hands into an unnatural position, and there’s an earsplitting _bang_ when his finger slips on the trigger, and the gun goes off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this drunk off my ass, and with practically zero editing. Sorry for the errors :)


	20. Chapter 20

The body under Castiel jerks once and then goes limp.  His ears ring in the silence left by the gunshot, and just as he registers the ache in his hands from the recoil, Tanya begins to cry.  At the same time someone drops to their knees next to him, and Castiel rears up with the gun and points it at the new intruder.

Wide green eyes with a thin ring of omega gold stare at him from the other end of the barrel.  Castiel sucks in a shocked breath, pulling Dean's buttery scent over his tongue along with the acrid burn of gunpowder, and he immediately drops his hand, moving his finger from the trigger, but keeping a grip on the weapon.  

"Dean!  Oh my gods, Dean!"  He practically falls into Dean's arms, crawling off the corpse of his cousin.  His whole body begins to shiver as the realization that he could have shot Dean in face sinks in.

His omega's scent is unpleasantly spiky with stress, but it surrounds Castiel, blocking out the death and violence permeating the air.  Dean is alive.  He's _alive._

"Hey, Cas, hey.  C'mon look at me."  Dean's hands cup Castiel's face, forcing him to look up.  The omega's eyes bounce over Castiel, probably checking for injuries.  When he doesn't see anything obvious, his gaze comes back to Castiel's.  "You okay?  Are you hurt?"

Castiel raises shaking fingers to curl around Dean's wrist.  He can feel Dean's pulse, and the beat centers him.  "Dean," he breathes out.  "I'm.. I'm fine.  Oh gods, I almost shot you."

"You didn't, Cas."  Dean's grip tightens around Castiel's face.  "You didn't."

Castiel lets out a shuddering sigh, and feels his panic go with it.  His eyes slip shut and he sends a silent _thank you_ to the heavens.  Then Tanya's terrified cries register, and he twists out of Dean's grip.  "Tanya!  Is she alright?"

He scrambles to his feet and is about to step over Ephraim's body to go to her, but Dean stops him with a hand in his thigh.

"Wait, Cas, I've got her.  You need to..." he trails off as he stands.  He reaches out and touches the back of Castiel's hand.

Castiel looks down and realizes he's still holding the gun.  His fingers are also splashed with Ephraim's blood even though most of it is pooling under his cousin's head.  The shot went through his chin, and there's a spray of gore around the exit wound.  Ephraim's eyes, glassy and unfocused, point up at the ceiling.  Castiel wants to lean down and close them, but the idea of touching Ephraim makes his stomach turn.

Tanya's crying pauses just long enough for her to take a deep breath, which she forces back out in a powerful scream, angry that her distress is being ignored.  Instinct is practically stabbing him with a cattle prod to go to her and try to calm her down, but he can't touch her like this.  Not when he smells of gunpowder and blood and aggression and fear.  

He acknowledges Dean with a nod, and watches as he crosses over to the little omega and picks her up.  Dean tucks her under his chin and begins rocking her and making soothing sounds.  Her reaction is almost instant, her screams mellowing to unhappy sobs.

"I'm gonna take her in the other room.  Away from the blood," Dean says.  "You gotta call Jody.  Tell her to come alone.  We'll figure shit out when she gets here.  Okay?"

"Alright."

Dean pins him with a firm look.  "It's gonna be okay, Cas."

Hearing the absolute confidence in Dean's voice gives Castiel strength.  His stomach settles, and the fine tremble in his limbs begins to ease.  "Okay, Dean."  

Dean watches him closely for a moment before deciding Castiel is going to be okay without him for the time being.  He turns his attention back to Tanya and hurries to the back of the house.  A few seconds later Castiel hears a door close, and Tanya's cries are muffled behind it.  

Being separated from the omegas makes him antsy, but he knows Dean is capable of taking care of himself and the baby.  It's not easy, but he ignores his hindbrain's demand to go stand guard over them.  There are more effective ways to protect them right now, and the first step is to make a phone call.

Castiel pulls out his phone and pulls up Jody’s number in his contacts.  He only has her number because somehow they’d ended up talking quite a bit during Bobby’s funeral, and they’ve exchanged friendly text messages every since.  As he taps the call icon and puts the phone up to his ear he wonders if she’ll still consider him a friend after tonight.  If she doesn’t outright arrest him, she’ll at least have reason to hate him.  Her adopted daughters were both rescued from one of Lucifer’s compounds, and she’s very protective of them.

She picks up after only a couple rings.  “Hey, Cas!  Wasn’t expecting to hear from you tonight.  I figured you and Dean-”

“Jody, you need to come to Nora’s house right away.”

He manages to keep his voice even, but she picks up immediately that there’s something serious going on.  “What’s wrong?”

He rubs the heel of the hand holding the gun over his eyes.  “I’d rather tell you in person.  Please come quickly.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

After Jody hangs up, Castiel looks around.  Other than the corpse leaking bodily fluids all over the hardwood, the house looks mostly normal.  And Castiel has to do something about Ephraim.  Leaving him just lying there is going to make Castiel sick.  So he grabs an afghan from the couch and throws it over the body.  Blood immediately starts to soak into the blanket, and he silently hopes that Nora isn’t too attached to it.  

He goes into the kitchen and sets the gun on the counter within easy reach and then starts scrubbing his hands with dish soap and scalding hot water.  His hands are red and stinging by the time there’s a knock on the door.  He knows it’s probably Jody, but he still grabs the gun, not bothering to dry his hands first.  Even though he keeps it pointed at the floor, he keeps a finger on the trigger as he checks through the window to make sure it’s not a stranger on the other side.  He sighs in relief and shifts his finger away from the trigger when he sees Jody standing on the porch.  She’s in uniform, which makes him feel slightly less guilty for calling her about this.

Just as he’s about to drop the curtain and go answer the door, Nora’s car pulls up behind Jody’s truck.  Castiel hurries to the door to catch her before she can get inside.  He opens it just as Jody is greeting Nora as she walks towards the house and he overhears the tail end of their conversation

“-Yeah, I got stood up on Valentine's.  Can you believe it?  What a jerk.”

_What a fucking mess,_ Castiel thinks.  She was going to find out about tonight's events anyway, but he wishes he'd had a little more tone to deal with things before she got home.

“Nora, wait,” he says as he steps outside.  “You can’t go in there yet.”

She stops at the bottom of the porch and looks at him like he’s crazy, while Jody eyes him with suspicion.  Her eyes sweep over him, and when they latch onto the gun in his hand she holds an arm out and bars Nora from coming any closer.

“What’s going on?” Nora asks, her tone laced with confusion and worry.  She looks up at Jody.  “Sheriff why are you here?”

“That’s what Mr. Castle is going to tell us,” Jody says, the full authority of her position ringing in her voice.  If she didn’t smell like an omega, Castiel thinks it would be easy to mistake her for an alpha just because of her commanding tone.

He looks back and forth between them, trying to decide how to break the news.  Hesitating will only make them more wary though, so he goes with the shortest version of the truth.  “I was attacked, and I killed the man in self defense.”

Nora gasps, both hands coming up to cup over her mouth.  They drop almost immediately though.  “Where’s Tanya?”

“She’s in the bedroom with Dean.”  He keeps his feet planted and blocks her from the door so he can deliver a warning.  “The body is just inside.  I covered it but…”

Nora nods shakily.  “Okay, but I need to see Tanya.  Now.”

Castiel steps aside and she rushes into the house, leaving the door open behind her.  He sees her pause at the body’s feet, but then she’s moving toward the back of the house almost immediately.  He looks back at Jody and tilts his head toward the door.  “You need to come in.”

“Yes I do.”  She gestures for him to lead the way.

Inside, she goes down on a knee next to the body and lifts the blanket back from Ephraim's face.  Castiel chews at his lips, waiting for her reaction.  After a moment she throws the blanket back over him and stands back up.  She hooks her thumbs in her belt, and lifts her eyebrows in question.  “Well, Cas?  I need you to tell me what happened.”

The fact that she’s no longer referring to him as Mr. Castle relaxes him slightly, but he still hesitates.  For a brief moment he considers telling her that it was an armed robbery.  There’s no way she’d believe it though.  Silverton is small so crime is low, and an armed burglar wouldn't break into a well lit house around a time when people are still likely to be awake to witness him approaching the house.

A door opens and closes behind him, and Dean’s buttery scent hits Castiel’s senses moments before a warm hand comes down on his shoulder.  He looks up into Dean’s eyes and sees warmth and support and all the calm assurance Castiel doesn’t feel.  And then Dean is pulling him into a hug, and Castiel wraps his arms around his omega’s waist and noses at his throat, scenting him and letting Dean do the same in return.  The timing isn’t good.  Jody is waiting for an answer.  But Castiel needs this moment, and he has the feeling Dean does too.

Too soon, they pull apart.  But with Dean’s scent lingering in his sinuses and at the back of his throat, Castiel feels more confident when he turns to face Jody’s curious stare.  

"His name is Ephraim Novak," Castiel says gravely.  "And he came here to kill me."

Jody's face is a perfect mask of professional calm.  Not even her scent changes.  "Okay.  Any idea why?"

"Because I am the one who sent all the information to the authorities about the Novak family.  My brothers are probably quite upset about that."  Castiel pauses, still not sure he’s doing the right thing.  Dean’s hand slips around his waist, and he stands at Castiel’s side, silently showing his support, and giving Castiel the momentum to continue.  "My name isn't Steve Castle.  It's Castiel Novak."

He braces himself for her reaction, and feels Dean do the same at his side.  

Jody’s lips twitch at the corners.  "I know who you are, Cas.”

Castiel frowns.  “Sheriff Mills, I don’t think you understand.  I’m-”

She cuts him off smoothly, her tone no nonsense and full of the authority of her job title.  "A very brave man to fight off a Fenrir cultist trying to kidnap local children.  You're a hero."  Her gaze shifts to a point behind them.  "Isn't that right, Nora?"

Castiel turns, Dean moving with him, to find Nora standing behind them.  Tanya is still cuddled to her chest, peeking out from under Nora's chin.  Nora is staring at Castiel with wide eyes, and he knows she overheard them.

"Is it true?" She asks.  "Are you Ca-Castiel Novak?"

It's too late to lie.  With a sinking heart, Castiel nods.  "Yes, I am."

The silence seems to stretch out as he waits for her response.  Even feeling Dean shift closer to him doesn't ease his fear.  He'll understand if Nora hates him, but it'll still hurt to lose her friendship, even though he's only known her for a few months.  

Tanya breaks the tension by reaching her arms out toward him.  When no one reacts, she begins to whine and wriggle in her mother’s arms.

Castiel looks to Nora in question, waiting for her judgement.

She looks down at the body, then back at him.  And then she steps closer and lets Tanya reach out for him.  Castiel takes the little omega in his arms, hugging her close.  Nora stays close, petting Tanya's back.  “It must have been hard, turning on your family,” she says softly.

“No it wasn't,” Castiel murmurs.  “Not even a little.”

Nora's smile is sad.  “You're a good man, Cas.”

“Which means we're going to need to keep this quiet so we can continue to protect him,” Jody says briskly.

From the corner of his eye, Castiel sees Dean sign something.  It's too quick for him to translate, but he gets the gist of it from Jody's answer.  She snorts and gives Dean an offended look.  “You think Bobby wouldn't have told me?”

Dean's hands fly through more signs, still too fast for Castiel to follow.

Jody smiles, but it's as bittersweet as her scent.  “It wasn't all just pillow talk, Dean.”

Her answer makes Dean shrink in on himself, his shoulders hunching.  This time Castiel understands his signs.  “ _He loved you.”_

“I know.” Jody sighs and her demeanor changes to all business.  She looks down at the body.  “Alright, so official story is kidnapping attempt, thwarted by Cas here.  It’ll make people twitchy for a while, but it'll keep Cas’ identity safe.  I'll call this in and get his body removed.”  She looks up at Nora.  “You and the kiddo have somewhere else you can go for tonight?”

“I can stay with Bess and Garth,” Nora says.

“Good.  Then let's get this mess cleaned up."  Jody pulls the radio from her belt and calls in to dispatch.  

***

It's nearly midnight by the time they're able to leave Nora's house.  For appearances sake they stick around long enough to give their official statements.  They also make sure Nora is safe with Garth before climbing into Dean's truck.  

Silence reigns in the cab for the first few minutes of the drive.  Dean's mind is swirling through the night's events, trying to find a way that the whole fiasco could have been prevented even though it’s too late to do anything but clean up the mess.  Castiel is slumped in the passenger seat, his head tilted against the window, steaming up the glass with his breath.  Between the two of them, the truck smells like burned pancakes and molding apples, and even the cinnamon underlying everything doesn't bring him any comfort.

When Dean doesn't take the turn toward the B&B, Castiel lifts his head and looks over at him.  "Aren't we going home?"

"We're going to Bob-" his throat tries to close up around the human's name, interrupting him with a cough.  He swallows a few times until the lump recedes and tries again.  "We're going to my house." It still feels weird to call the place his out loud, but at least he _can_ say it.  "If we go to Sam's, he's going to be all over us with questions, and I don't know about you, but I'd kinda like a few hours of peace and quiet before we deal with the inquisition."

Castiel nods and lets his head fall back against the glass.  For the rest of the drive, Dean's eyes flick back and forth from the road to his alpha.  His silence is beginning to freak Dean out.  Or maybe it's the stress pheromones they're marinating in.  They could just be feeding off each other's emotions.

But when they finally get to the house and open the truck doors, the cold clean air is not a relief.  And when Dean reaches for Castiel's hand on the way inside and the alpha pulls away before their skin does more than just brush against each other he knows that he's not the only one that's feeling not quite right about anything.  The tension grows between them on the way upstairs to Dean's bedroom, and he's trying to find a way to burst the bubble when Castiel does it for him.

Castiel stops in the center of the room, and his shoulders visibly tense.  "Dean."  His voice is hoarse, as if he's been shouting instead of mostly silent since they left Nora's.  "I need to leave Silverton."

The words hit Dean like a fist.  "What?"

"I'm no longer safe here, and my being here endangers everyone else too."

"But Cas," Dean walks around to stand in front of Castiel.  "We're going to protect you."

Castiel lifts his head and his eyes burn with anger so strong that Dean leans back a little from it.  "You shouldn't have to.  Especially when I'm the one who fucked up and let myself be found.  I should have left a long time ago to keep this from happening."

Dean blinks at Castiel as he tries to parse what the hell he's talking about.  "Cas you couldn't have known-"

_"I did know!"_ Castiel snarls between bared fangs.

This time Dean actually takes a step back.  He's not afraid of Cas, but fuck if he isn't just a little bit intimidated.  Castiel is gentle and kind, even when he's being stern or he's upset.  Even when he chased Dean down in the junkyard, he didn't have this same aura of danger floating around him as he does now.

And even as chills race down his spine, Dean feels the wet heat of slick begin to seep from his body.  Angry Cas is terrifying, but also _really fucking sexy._ He doesn't have much time to enjoy the arousal though because Castiel continues and distracts Dean from his body's reaction.

"I should have left town as soon as I found out Zachariah knew my real identity," Castiel hisses.  He fists his hair with one hand and starts pacing.  

"What?"  Dean reaches out and catches Castiel's shoulder, forcing him to a stop.  “The hell are you talking about?”

Castiel huffs out a breath and looks away.  “Zachariah.  He knew me.  He wanted me to take over Lucifer’s cult, and continue ‘his holy work’.” Dean will never see Castiel do the air quotes and think it isn’t cute.  “I told him to get the fuck out of town, but I should have known he wouldn’t keep the information to himself.”

“Zachariah knows who you are?” Dean asks, trying desperately to catch up with the conversation.  “When did-why didn’t you say anything?”

“Bobby died,” Castiel says softly, his anger dampened under a layer of mourning.  “I forgot… and then it didn’t seem important.  And I was stupid for thinking that.”

Dean searches his memory for everything he knows about Zachariah.  Preacher.  Kinda new to town.  Judgemental bag of dicks.  But there wasn’t anything about him that set off alarms.  Okay yeah, not saying anything wasn’t exactly _smart,_ but considering the circumstances maybe not really stupid either.  “How did he find out about you?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” Castiel shrugs and pulls away from Dean’s touch.  “I assume he was always a ‘true believer’, and just kept it under wraps.”

“That motherfucker,” Dean growls.  How the fuck did one of Lucifer’s sympathizers slip through the cracks and end up in Silverton?  “I’m going to hunt him down and rip his fucking lungs out with my teeth.”

“No need.  Ephraim already took care of him.”  Castiel laughs bitterly.  “He was amused that a beta thought he could buy his way into Lucifer’s inner circle with information on me.  But that didn’t stop him from coming after me himself after he killed Zachariah.”

Dean is disappointed he won’t get the chance, and he’s kind of pissed that he has a reason to be grateful to the man that nearly killed Castiel, but at least the asshole isn’t out there anymore causing trouble.  Fuck, how much information did he share with Ephraim about Silverton before he bit it?  Anything is too much, and Dean is going to talk to Jody about it as soon as possible to make sure that people know to watch out for stray cultists invading the town.  The Novak brothers that started the cult may be gone, but their supporters are still out there.  But for the moment, he’s more focussed on Castiel.  

“Okay I get it,” Dean says, closing the space between them and reaching out to the alpha again.  “We’ve gotta be more careful about strangers in town.  But you don’t have to leave.”

“Dean, I-”

“No,” Dean cuts in angrily.  “Stop.  You’re not leaving, Cas.”

“But if I’m here then-”

“Then you’re with people who want to protect you,” Dean snaps.  “Don’t you fucking get it, Cas?  You belong here.  You’re family _._ ”

Tears fill Castiel’s eyes, and he shakes his head.  “Dean, I can’t put you and your family in danger-”

“Cas, _you are my family_.” Dean grabs Castiel’s face to keep him from looking away.  He stares into Castiel’s lake-blue eyes and tries to convey without words how important it is that Castiel accepts that he’s a Winchester now too.

The tears spill over Castiel’s lashes, leaving damp trails down his cheeks.  “Dean, I-”

He knows he’s going to hear a denial, and it makes him angry as hell.  Castiel freaked out because he pointed a gun at Dean earlier, but Dean witnessed that gun going off and experienced a few heartbeats of abject terror because he didn’t know who had been shot.  Cas may have been scared, but Dean thought his whole life had come to an end.  His alpha could have been torn away from him, just months after Dean found him.  And Castiel thinks he can _just leave_ now?  

Fuck that.

“No,” Dean growls.  “You don’t get to deny it.  You can’t deny _me._  You’re scared.  I get it.  But I’m not going to let you use that as an excuse to leave me.”

“But-”

“ _No,_ Cas.  No buts!”  Dean tightens his grip on Castiel’s face and leans in close until they’re breathing each other’s air.  “You don’t get to run.  Do you hear me?  You can’t run.  I love you.”

He didn’t mean to say it.  But now the words are out there, and gods he _means them._ So much that it hurts.  He physically aches when he thinks of being separated from his alpha.  

Castiel’s lips part on a sob.  His hands come up and wrap around Dean’s wrists.  “I love you too, Dean.  So much.  And I can’t be the reason you’re in danger.”

Dean wants to shake him until he can knock loose the crazy idea that leaving will make Dean safer.  He wants to knock him down, tie him to the bed.  Or drag him down to Bobby’s old panic room and keep him locked up until he realizes that he’ll never be safer anywhere than he is in Silverton with people who care about him.  With Dean.

But instead he releases his grip on Castiel and takes a step back.  He jabs a finger at Castiel’s chest.  “Stay here,” he commands.

He doesn’t wait for an acknowledgement.  Castiel may think he needs to leave, but he’s not going anywhere for the moment unless he’s planning on stealing Dean’s truck.  And since the keys are still in Dean’s pocket and Castiel doesn’t know enough about cars to hotwire it, the alpha isn’t going anywhere.  He stalks out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom.  The pregnancy test is still sitting on the back of the toilet where he left it and he scoops it up before hurrying back to the bedroom.

“Look,” Dean growls.  He shoves the white and purple plastic stick into Castiel’s hand.  “Do you know what this is?”

Castiel fumbles to accept the object, and once he has it he turns it over until the display is facing up.  His head comes up and he stares at Dean.  His jaw works, but no words come, and Dean has a moment of smug satisfaction that for once Castiel knows what it feels like to be completely speechless.  

He jabs a finger at the test.  “It’s negative,” he says, and the words feel heavy and wrong in his mouth.  His stomach twists just as tightly as it did when the screen changed and he found out that he wasn’t pregnant.  Disappointment makes his muscles go weak, and all he wants to do is drape himself over Castiel and cry into his shoulder.  He’d spent almost an hour sitting on the toilet crying over a stupid plastic stick that day, and wishing that the results had been different.

“I wanted it to come back positive,” Dean continues in a softer voice.  “I wanted it so goddamn bad, Cas.  To have a piece of you growing inside me?”  He barks a harsh laugh and rubs a hand over his face.  “The only thing I want more is to feel you mark me as your mate.”

Castiel’s head comes up and he stares at Dean with wide eyes.  “Dean…”

“And now you’re talking about _leaving_?” Dean grabs the test and in a quick twist turns and throws it against the wall.  His chest heaves with every breath, and his vision blurs with tears.  He can feel the lump growing in his throat, larger than it’s ever been before, and he coughs around it.  But it won’t recede, and he resorts to the only other language he can speak.

_Please don’t leave me,_ he signs with shaking fingers.   _I need you._

Castiel goes completely still, only his eyes moving as they flick over Dean’s face.  Between one heartbeat and the next, Castiel is pulling Dean into his arms.  Their lips meet in a clash of teeth, but the slight sting does nothing to diminish Dean’s need for his alpha.

The cinnamon underlying both of their scents balloons around them, stinging Dean’s tastebuds and making his mouth water even as Castiel slides his tongue deeper between Dean’s lips.  The trickle of slick between his legs turns into a steady flow, and soon the denim of his jeans is damp halfway to his knees.  

In an impressive show of alpha strength, Castiel whirls them around and shoves Dean down onto the bed.  Dean allows it without an ounce of struggle, opening his arms and legs for the alpha to settle between.  He moans when he feels the bulge of Castiel’s dick through the double layer of denim, and he rolls his hips up in search of more friction.  

Castiel growls against his mouth, and then he sits up.  Dean starts to protest, but Castiel is pulling at his clothes, and since getting naked is definitely a good thing, he helps instead of complaining.  The sound of tearing cloth doesn’t even bother him because he’s half ready to shred anything that gets between him and his alpha right now.  And once Dean’s clothes are removed, they work together to strip Castiel as well.  

Then it’s hot, damp skin against skin, and Dean is beyond coherent thought.  He wraps his limbs around Castiel and pulls him as close as possible.  His hips flex and thrust, rubbing his dick against Castiel’s belly, and he gasps against Castiel’s mouth at the friction.  

Castiel reaches between them, and guides the head of his bare cock to Dean’s hole.  In one thrust he’s buried deep, and Dean arches his back, crying out at the sudden intrusion.  There’s no pain - he’s dripping wet, and his body opens to Castiel easily, welcoming its alpha inside.  

When he tries to thrust up, Castiel holds him down, holds him still.  Dean whines and tightens his legs around Castiel’s hips, but his whole body freezes when Castiel growls at him.  There are no words in the sound, but it’s laden with a command that Dean’s omega hindbrain can’t deny.  

Castiel lifts his head up just enough that Dean can look him in the eyes.  The alpha’s pupils are blown wide, surrounded by the barest hint of purple.  Dean is caught by them, trapped, unable to look away even if he wanted to.  His body goes still, yielding to its alpha.  But that doesn’t stop the tiny imploring noises from escaping Dean’s throat.  Castiel’s cock is deep inside him, but he’s _not moving_.

Dean’s mouth shapes his alpha’s name, although there’s no sound behind it.  Castiel’s gaze sharpens, but instead of fucking Dean into the mattress, he slides a hand between them and wraps strong fingers around Dean’s dick and starts stroking.  It’s dry at first, but Dean’s precome begins to slick the way, and soon Dean’s whines turn to gasps and wordless begging.  

But Castiel still doesn’t move other than the even, deliberate stroke of his fist over Dean’s fevered flesh.  Any time Dean tries to move in an attempt to get friction _inside_ , Castiel clamps his other hand hard into Dean’s hip to hold him still.  It’s slow, measured torture, and Dean wants to scream with frustration even as he feels his orgasm creeping up his spine.

And even though Castiel isn’t thrusting into him, Dean can feel his knot swelling.  It presses more and more firmly against his prostate, and he bears down on it, seeking more stimulation.  Castiel makes a sound that’s half warning growl and half whine, but he remains stubbornly still.  

“Cas,” Dean whimpers.  He’s close.  So close.  And Castiel’s knot is almost completely swollen inside him.  If he could just… move…  “Please, Cas.”

Finally, _finally,_ Castiel moves.  But only to lean down and sink his teeth into the flesh of Dean’s shoulder.  At the same time, his knot spasms inside Dean, pumping wave after wave of come deep into Dean’s body.

There’s pain as the skin breaks, but Dean barely registers it.  Every color of the rainbow bursts behind his eyes, and his spine curves, arching is body up off the bed.  His lungs pump and his heart gallops, carrying a rush of new hormones to every cell in his body.  He can feel the change as his physiology adjusts, forever tying him to the alpha draped over him.  His gums tingle, and with a snarl he twists and bites back.  

Blood rushes over his teeth and tongue and he eagerly swallows, pulling Castiel’s essence into himself.  And that’s when Dean’s orgasm hits.  Like a goddamn freight train.  Destroying him.  Smashing him to tiny pieces.

The orgasm seems to go on forever, peaking again when Castiel’s fingers tighten around Dean’s dick.  He growls and digs his teeth deeper, wraps his arms around Castiel and pulls him so close that their heartbeats thud against each other.  

After what seems like ages, the pieces of his consciousness pull back in, knitting together.  His muscles unkink, including those in his jaw, although it still takes a conscious effort to release Castiel’s shoulder from between his fangs.  He can feel the tackiness of drying blood on his lips and his cheeks, and the smell of copper joins the miasma of apples and butter and cedar and cinnamon.

He whimpers when Castiel’s teeth slip free of his skin.  It hurts, but Castiel soothes the ache with long swipes of his tongue.  

“You’ll stay,” Dean murmurs against Castiel’s temple.  

“Yes,” Castiel says against Dean’s shoulder, his lips brushing against the fresh bite.  

All the air slides out of Dean’s lungs in a relieved sigh, and he tightens his grip around Castiel’s shoulders.  He can feel the steady drip of blood from Castiel’s shoulder against his throat, and he knows that eventually they’re going to have to get up and bandage the wounds.  But they’re tied together for at least the next fifteen to twenty minutes, and a primitive part of Dean loves that his alpha’s blood is painting his skin.  Something hitches in his chest, and a purr rumbles up from his throat.  Seconds later, Castiel’s deeper purr harmonizes with him.

Dean runs his hands up and down the hills and valleys of Castiel’s back, and he sends up a prayer of thanks that he can do so.  That the bullet in Ephraim’s gun didn’t steal Castiel away from him.  There’s still danger in their lives.  The idea that Zachariah’s information about Castiel died with him is wishful thinking.  But Dean has been fighting Lucifer’s cult for most of his life.  Just because it’s been dismantled doesn’t mean that he’s going to let his guard down.  

He’ll protect his mate.  And, gods willing, their children if they’re ever blessed with any.  

After a few minutes Castiel props himself up on an elbow and looks down at Dean with calm eyes.  He runs the pad his thumb over Dean’s bottom lip, sticking slightly in the drying blood.  “I’ve wanted to make you mine for so long,” he says softly.

“I’ve been yours for a while,” Dean murmurs.  He licks at his lips, tasting Castiel’s tangy sweetness through the blood.  

Castiel smiles.  “I’ve been yours from the beginning.”

Despite the way his heart speeds up at the words, Dean snorts and rolls his eyes.  “You’re a sap.”

“I’m your mate.”

Despite himself, a wide dopey grin spreads across Dean’s lips.  “Cas Winchester kinda has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it.”

Castiel tilts his head, pressing his blood stained lips together thoughtfully.  After a moment he nods.  “I like it.  Much better than Steve Castle.”

Dean chuckles.  “That name sucked, Cas.”

Castiel’s face scrunches up in offense.  “You suck.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”  When Castiel huffs and rolls his eyes, Dean laughs again.  He sobers after a moment, although a smile still hovers around his lips.  He reaches up and runs fingers through Castiel’s hair.  “We’re gonna be okay, Cas.  I promise.”

Castiel watches him with soft eyes, and then leans down to kiss him.  It feels weird with the drying blood and all, but the kiss is tender and so full of love that Dean’s eyes begin to sting with unshed tears.  The kiss says all the words he’s ever wanted to hear from a mate.   _I love you,_ and _I trust you,_ and _I’ll be with you_.

Dean has no words to give back to Castiel.  They’re all trapped inside him, but not because of the lump in his throat.  What he feels in his heart is too big to express with anything other than touches and kisses.  And he’s going to spend the rest of his life making sure his mate knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go.


	21. Chapter 21

A low grinding sound, just barely louder than the hum of the florescent lights and the fridges lining the far wall distracts Castiel from counting out the cash drawer. He lifts his head and eyes the slushie machine suspiciously.  The noise stops almost as soon as he looks at it, almost as if it senses his scrutiny and is trying to hide its malfunction.  He's already taken it apart and thoroughly cleaned it and he's sure the sound is coming from the little motor that spins the plastic blades that keep the syrupy liquid inside from freezing completely.  With a sigh he makes a mental note to ask Dean to take a look at it.  

He growls in the back of his throat, sending a wordless warning to the machine to behave itself, then turns his attention back to his task.  Nora should be there in a few minutes to take over from him, and he wants to be ready to leave as soon as he can.  

Just as he finishes, the bell over the door jingles.  The scent of honeydew rushes in along with a tiny omega, her shoes clomping loudly as she runs for the opening that will lead her behind the counter he's working at.

"Unca Cas!"

"Hey there, T-bear!"  Castiel sweeps Tanya into his arms before she can crash into his knees.  She squeals happily when he blows a raspberry against her soft pink cheek, and squirms wildly.  

Nora smiles fondly as she follows her daughter inside.  "Hello, Cas."

Castiel relents on the tickling and pets Tanya's hair, holding her close while she catches her breath.  "Hey, Nora.  How was class this morning?"

She huffs out a sigh and rolls her eyes, but her lips are curved up in a fond smile.  "Hectic."

He laughs.  "I'll bet.  I'm not sure I could handle a room full of toddlers, even with the teacher there to help."

He'd probably do just fine.  Kids seem to love him, and he's gotten a lot of practice with the really little ones.  His forays into babysitting now include Garth and Bess' daughter Karen, and his nephew Robbie.  Dean's teased him more than once that he should start a daycare out of their house.

Nora laughs too.  "Yeah it's a little overwhelming.  But you know you won't get out of it when you have your own little one in daycare someday."

The idea of watching his own son or daughter interact with their daycare class makes the idea far more inviting, and he smiles at the mental image.  He wouldn't try to get out of it.  He'd do it happily.  "Well," he says, "that's still a ways off, so I guess we'll see."

When Tanya realizes what they're talking about, she perks up and cups Castiel's cheeks with her hands, still so tiny even now that she's three years old.  "Will you come to school with me, Unca Cas?" Her words are getting easier to understand lately, but she still has a lisp, so her question sounds like _will you come to thtool wif me, Unca Cath?_  It's unbearably cute, and it takes an effort not to laugh sometimes.

"Looks like it might be sooner than you think," Nora teases him.  She reaches out for her daughter.  "Come on, T-bear.  Uncle Cas probably wants to get home."

Castiel does want to get home, but he hesitates after handing Tanya over to her mother.  "Are you sure?  I can stay if you need someone to watch her."

"Bess will be here in half an hour to take her."  Nora waves a dismissive hand, shooing him out from behind the counter.  "And I've already monopolized most of your day when you have your own work to do.  Thank you again, by the way."

While it's true that he does have paperwork to do, the benefit of being self employed as Silverton's local accountant is that he can make his own hours.  And even though he hasn't officially worked for Nora for almost half a year since he started his little business out of his office, he certainly doesn't mind covering a shift for her now and then.  

But if he's not home to keep an eye on Dean, his mate will ignore all the rules placed on him that restrict his work hours.  Castiel hates having to babysit a full grown man, but he'll do it until Dean stops being such a stubborn shit.

"Anytime," he says with a smile before leaning in to kiss her on the cheek, and then do the same for Tanya.  Then he's pulling off his blue vest and heading for the door.

Summer heat slaps him in the face as soon as he's outside, and he already misses the air conditioned interior of the store.  The sun reflects off the blacktop, making it even worse and he's glad he left the windows down on his jeep so it wouldn't turn into an oven.  It's his third summer in the mountains, and he's still surprised at how hot it gets.

He's completely focused on the short walk to his jeep, keys already jingling in his hand, when a voice from his past shocks him to a standstill in the middle of the parking lot.

"Plaid shirt _and_ cargo shorts, Cassie?  If Balthazar could see you now, he’d be horrified.  I should send him a picture."

Only Castiel's head turns, the rest of his body poised for violence or retreat, only waiting for him to assess the danger before choosing an action.  His eyes land on a short, golden-haired man leaning against a sleek red Cadillac.  His eyes are hidden behind mirrored glasses, but Castiel recognizes him easily.  Gabriel has changed very little since the last time Castiel saw him, right down to the smirk twisting his lips and his penchant for wearing flamboyant Hawaiian shirts.

"Gabriel," Castiel says, low and warning.  He shifts his keys so the sharp ends stick out through his knuckles.  It's not much of a weapon, but it'll do until he can get to the knife hidden at the small of his back.  For now he doesn't want to advertise that he's armed and lose the advantage of surprise.  "What are you doing here?"

His brother's smirk widens into a toothy grin.  His jaw works around a piece of gum, popping it between his teeth.  "I can't stop in and visit my baby brother?"

"I haven't seen you since before I put our other brothers in prison three years ago," Castiel points out.  "In fact no one has.  I assumed you'd fled the country to and their fate."

Gabriel nods thoughtfully, then blows a bubble with his gum, completely nonchalant.  "Well you know assuming makes you an ass, right?"

Castiel narrows his eyes, annoyed with his brother's teasing.  Just like old times, really.  And just like old times, he can't resist sniping back.  "I believe the idiom would include you in that description."

His brother tilts his head back and laughs.  "Oh, Castiel.  We both know I'm an ass.  No assumptions about it."

The sound of Gabriel's laughter makes Castiel's lips twitch up in response.  But his smile quickly fades away.  He missed Gabriel, but even though he has no concrete evidence that Gabriel was involved with Lucifer's cult, he's got enough to suspect him.  And it hurts that his favorite brother, the only one that felt more like real family than all the rest, might be involved in something so evil.

Gabriel's laughter trails off, and he shakes his head sadly.  "You really think I was tangled up in that shit, Cas?"

He doesn't want to.  Gabriel and Lucifer never really got along, and unlike Raphael, he didn't automatically kowtow to Michael's every whim.  But...  "What else would I think?" Castiel asks softly.  "All that money you stole?  And then you drop off the face of the planet when our brothers are arrested?"

"You did the same."  Gabriel's smile is gone now, and even with the glasses hiding his eyes, Castiel feels pinned by his stare.  "Don't think I don't know about that hundred K missing from the accounts, _Cas Winchester,_ aka _Steve Castle._ Stupid name, bee-tee-dubs, but I guess it does make you sound boring and normal, so kudos for that."

"I had to go into hiding to protect myself," Castiel snaps.  "And since someone _did_ eventually find me and try to kill me, it was a wise decision on my part.  You have yet to tell me your excuse.  Or why you stole _millions_."

Gabriel winces.  "Yeah, you pissed Mikey off, like whoa.  Sorry Ephraim nearly got to you.  I've tightened up security since then."  When Castiel only stares at him blankly, he huffs in annoyance.  "Really?  You think you haven't seen another assassin in the last three years because, what?  You're lucky?  Good at hiding even after that dumbass beta preacher blabbed all over the country looking for someone to treat him like a good puppy?   _Please_ , Castiel.  That kind of anonymity only comes from intervention.  Divine, or-" He grins and gestures at himself, "-otherwise."

Castiel's fingers loosen around his keys, and his jaw sags.  After Ephraim came to kill him, Castiel had jumped at shadows and eyed all newcomers to town with suspicion.  It had taken more than a year before he'd started to relax, and even still he suffers the occasional sleepless night worrying about the possibility of future attacks.  An anxiety that only increases as his life becomes more settled with every passing year.

And now Gabriel is standing less than five feet away, proof that Castiel’s had good reason to be worried.  Although his words seem to indicate the opposite.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, little brother, that your little bubble of peace and quiet here is because I have been running interference and keeping you off the radar since I found out from poor, dearly departed Pastor Zach where you were hiding.  In a town that _I've_ been funneling money to for rehoming Weres rescued from Lucifer's camps since looong before you stumbled into the place."  Gabriel chuckles.  "Cosmic fucking coincidence, but holy shit that worked out in your favor, didn't it?"

Castiel feels like the ground has fallen out from under him.  His eyes dart around, trying to connect Gabriel's revelations with his existing world view.  During the first year he lived in Silverton, ten new families moved in.  All of them children that were like Dean.  Kidnapped, raised in the cult compounds, forced to mate and breed.  Unlike Dean they didn't escape until the cult was dismantled.  And they didn't feel comfortable going back to their old families because they'd created new ones of their own, so they moved to Silverton to start new lives.  

One couple, a quiet and hard working alpha named Gadreel and his sweet natured omega mate Hannah, had confided to him that they were given a substantial sum of money and a list of safe and Were friendly communities to settle in.  It came from an organization that was dedicated to helping Lucifer's stolen children reintegrate into society and live as normally as possible.  It had been enough to outright purchase a small cabin at the edge of town where they lived with their two children.  

Is Gabriel behind the organization?  Funding it with money he siphoned from the Novak fortune?  Castiel doesn't want to believe Gabriel was involved in the cult, or in the human trafficking.  But how can he?  That money started disappearing from the accounts many years before Castiel discovered the evil acts his other brothers were involved in.  

His doubts must be clear on his face because Gabriel huffs out a broken little laugh and shakes his head.  "Alright, I guess I can see why you don't believe me," he says.  "Which hurts, bro.  But I get it.  I can prove what I'm saying, but you're not the reason I'm here, so it'll have to wait a bit if you don't mind." He taps his knuckles lightly on the roof of his car.  "This kiddo has been waiting a lifetime to meet her daddy, and I promised her that stopping to see you first wouldn't take very long."

Castiel's eyes are drawn to the figure sitting in the passenger seat of Gabriel's car.  He'd been so focused on the potential danger his brother posed that he hadn't noticed the girl.  Which was stupid of him.  If Gabriel has an accomplice hiding somewhere nearby, Castiel could have been taken completely by surprise.

Then again, if someone really wants him dead they could just take a shot at him from a distance.  Ephraim's mistake had been giving in the need to gloat over punishing Castiel, and although he can totally imagine Gabriel doing the classic villain monologue, he doesn't think his brother would actually make that kind of mistake.  He's far too clever for that.

The woman sitting in the car stares back at him with open curiosity.  She's young, a girl really.  Despite the distance between them and the shadows partially covering her face his sharp Were eyesight lets him examine her features.  Her hair spills over her shoulders in long red-gold waves, and her pert nose is covered with freckles.  There's something oddly familiar about the shape of her mouth, and the green eyes peering back at him.  The girl smiles shyly, and Castiel sucks in a breath.

Gabriel opens the car door and leans down to speak through the opening.  "Hey, kiddo.  Come out for a minute and meet my brother."

***

“Dean Henry Winchester, you better not be doing what it looks like you’re doing.”

Huffing in annoyance, Dean straightens up from the grimy engine of the beat up old Toyota truck Garth has been working on most of the day.  He glares as Garth, his own damn employee, who definitely should _not_ speak to him like he’s an errant child, re-enters the garage from the side door carrying an old radiator he probably pulled from a junker in the yard.  

His hands, which are _clean_ , thank you very much, move jerkily as he signs.  “ _Fuck you, I was just looking.”_

Garth beams at him.  Like a proud papa.  Seriously, since his daughter was born he thinks he’s everyone’s dad now.  “That’s good, Dean.  You know Donna said all those chemicals can soak into your skin, and that ain’t good for you right now.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but backs away from the truck.  It’s driving him nuts that he can’t work in his own damn garage.  Instead he’s been doing paperwork Cas usually takes care of.  It’s mind numbingly boring, but it’s better than not working at all.  He’s already stir crazy enough.

But the sacrifice will be worth it.  He runs a palm over the tiny outward curve of his belly.  It’s still not even noticeable under his loose henley, but the change feels huge to him.  

It’s his second pregnancy since he and Castiel mated, but this is the farthest along he’s ever been.  He lost the first one before his body began to show physical signs, and Donna has cautioned him to be extra careful with this pregnancy.  Due to his difficulty in even getting pregnant in the first place, first with Lydia when he was a teen, and now with Castiel who he is fully blood bonded to, and the fact that he lost his first pregnancy, she’d instructed him to avoid long hours of work, heavy lifting, and slathering himself in chemicals.

Which is like… his whole career pretty much.  

Oh well, it’s only for another six months.  He pats his belly again and thinks loving thoughts at the little alien in his womb.  

 _“You find everything you need?”_ he signs to Garth.

“Yeah, once I get this thing tuned up a bit and this radiator put in, she should be good as new.”  Garth sets the part down near the back bench and walks over to stand next to Dean.  He points at the battery.  “Gotta deal with that corrosion, but the battery itself is good.”  His finger wanders between several hoses.  “Replace one or two of those.  The thing sounds like it’s got a loose belt somewhere, but I haven’t figured out which one it is yet.  I already checked inventory though, and we have those things on hand if I need them.”

At least Dean can still talk shop, even if he can’t work in it.  He discusses Garth’s plan of action to tune up the engine, and is helping him map out a tentative cost estimate when the sound of a car - two cars, actually - pulling up the drive to the house grabs his attention.  The garage door is open, and he looks up to see Castiel’s jeep pull into its normal parking spot.  And right behind him, a shiny red Cadillac that looks extremely out of place parked in the dusty gravel.

“Who do you reckon that is?” Garth asks.

The Cadillac’s occupants stay inside it while Castiel jumps out of his jeep and rushes over to the garage.  Dean moves out from behind the truck and walks out to meet his mate, his eyes flicking between Cas and the strange Cadillac.  When he sees Castiel’s expression, which can only be described as mild panic, his heartbeat increases and all his protective instincts roar to the surface.

 _“What’s going on?”_ he signs just as Castiel reaches him.

Castiel catches him by the shoulders, and shakes him gently, forcing Dean to look only at him.  And then he smiles.  He’s worried about something, it’s obvious in the singed wood scent underlying his apple cider essence.  But when Dean sees his smile, he relaxes slightly.  There’s excitement in his eyes.  Eagerness that teases at Dean’s curiosity.

“I know I probably smell worried,” Castiel says quickly.  “And I kind of am, but this is a good thing, I promise.”

Dean lifts his eyebrows, and nods. _*Okay*_

“I thought it would be best to talk to you first,” Castiel continues.  “You’re feeling alright?  Not stressed, or sick or anything?”

What the hell?  Dean’s had a little bit of morning sickness, and his already sensitive nose has been going fucking haywire since his pheromones changed from buttery to lemony a few weeks into his pregnancy.  But he’s been mostly fine.  Leaps and bounds better than the last time, that’s for sure.  He nods again, a little impatiently this time.

“Okay.” Castiel huffs out a breath and then says it again.  “Okay.  Well, there’s someone here who wants to meet you.”  His fingers tighten on Dean’s shoulders.  “Whatever happens, I’m here for you.  Anything you need from me, and you’ll have it.”

Dean is tempted to joke about needing a quickie, but decides against it.  Curiosity is eating him alive, so he doesn’t want to waste time.  He gestures toward the Cadillac in a silent message that he’s ready to meet whoever the fuck it is parked in his driveway.

Castiel squeezes his shoulders one more time, and then turns to lead him back toward the parked vehicles.  His fingers brush against Dean’s, but he doesn’t take his hand, leaving him free to sign if he needs to.

When they get closer, the driver’s side door opens and a man that Dean has only seen in pictures steps out.  Dean freezes and a growl rumbles up out of his throat.  

Gabriel Fucking Novak.  

His fingers are already curling into fists and his muscles are bunching to carry him forward to punch the fucker in the teeth, but he’s stopped by Castiel’s fingers circling his wrist.

“It’s okay, Dean.  He’s not a threat.” Castiel drops his voice.  “I think he’s Loki.”

Dean’s head snaps to the side and he stares at Castiel with wide eyes.  A few months after Castiel started going through Bobby’s financial records in an attempt to find out exactly what he’d left to Dean after his death, he’d found a mysterious account.  All the deposits were labeled “From Loki”, and after more research Castiel found that Bobby had been using the money to fund raids on the cult communes for years.  A lot of it had also gone to help support the Weres that Dean’s family had rescued during those raids.  Either as gifts to the parents so they could get their children into therapy, or for student loans.  Whatever the kids needed to make up for the nightmare of being kidnapped and forced into a life they didn’t ask for.  After he died, the money stopped flowing.  But a non-profit had started up around the same time, taking care of the kids and families, taking over the job that Bobby had been doing in secret for as long as Dean had known him.

“The deposits line up with the records of Gabriel’s money laundering,” Castiel says softly.

Castiel wants to believe it.  Dean can see the yearning in his eyes.  He’s heard Castiel lament losing his relationship with his favorite brother over the years, and about how he hopes that the lack of damning evidence he found against Gabriel is a good sign.  It would be stupid to throw caution completely to the wind, but Dean can give Novak a chance if Castiel is willing to.  

And if the thing about Gabriel being Loki is true… well that would be pretty fucking awesome all around.  If not, Dean’d really hate to have to hide Gabriel’s corpse without Castiel finding out about it.  Especially since he’d promised not to do any heavy lifting during his pregnancy.

Sam would probably help if it became necessary, though.  The thought is extremely satisfying.

He gives Castiel a little smile to show that he understands, and his heart warms when he sees Castiel’s relief.  Then he turns his attention back to the older Novak brother.  

“Hey, Dean-o,” Gabriel says with a lazy two-finger salute.  “Nice to finally meet you in person after all these years.  Gabriel Novak, at your service.”

Dean responds with a wave, and waits.

“Not very chatty, huh?”  Gabriel chuckles and shrugs.  “That’s okay, I’m not the one who came to talk to you anyway.”

Oh, they’ll definitely do some talking once Dean finds out what this is all about.  

The passenger door opens, and there’s a flash of red-gold that catches Dean’s eye.  He looks past Gabriel to the girl who gets out of the Cadillac.  She zeroes right in on him, and stares at him with a mixture of hope, anticipation, and fear.

For a moment his world tilts on its axis, and he feels like he’s dragged back in time eighteen years.  He’s looking at Lydia again for the first time since he was a teenager.

But she has his eyes.

“Hello,” the girl says.  

She even sounds like Lydia.

But she has his freckles.

“Dean,” Castiel says softly at his side.  Warm fingers stroke up and down his forearm.  “This is Emma Winchester.”

Dean’s lips part, the barest whisper of sound escaping them.  “Emma.”

She smiles shyly and tucks her hair behind her ears just like her mother always did, and then comes around the front of the car.  She stops a few feet away, her body fidgeting with nerves.  Her hands twitching and moving to adjust the hem of her shirt, her feet rocking in the gravel under her shoes.  

The lump that usually blocks his words is completely absent, but he barely even realizes it when he speaks.  “You look just like your mother.”  Except the eyes.  Except the freckles.  Maybe the chin is just a little bit like his own.

Emma laughs quietly.  “Mom always said I look just like you.”

When tears begin to warp the image of his daughter standing in front of him, Dean blinks several times to clear his eyes.  He doesn’t want to stop looking at her.  Drinking in the sight of the child he’d dreamed about for so long.  But his laugh is still watery when it escapes him.  

“You’re here,” he says, stepping closer.  “I’ve always wanted… I missed you, even though I didn’t know you.”

Emma’s eyes begin to brim with tears too, and she moves closer as well.  “Mom was scared you wouldn’t want anything to do with us-” she sniffles wetly, “-with me.  After everything she did to you.”

Two more steps bring him within touching distance.  He wants to yank her into his arms and never let go.  But he can see how nervous she is, can smell it under her flowery omega scent.  Lilacs.  She smells like lilacs.  

“Yeah I was mad, but I would have been happy to see her if she came to visit me,” he says.  “And I never stopped loving you.”

Emma’s shoulders shake with a sob that she obviously tried to hold in.  “Really?”

He doesn’t trust his voice.  The lump is still absent, but he’s _this close_ to ugly snot-crying.  So he just nods.

“Can… can I have a hug?” she whispers timidly.

Hell. Fuck. Yes.

Dean pulls his daughter into his arms.  She’s tiny, her head tucking easily under his chin.  But she’s strong, her arms nearly cutting him in half at the waist when she squeezes him back.  When she starts to tremble he runs his hand over her hair and rocks her back and forth.  He makes soothing noises, and mumbles over and over how happy he is that she’s there.

Many hours later, after the sun has gone down and Emma is tucked away in the spare room for the night, Dean stands out on the porch and looks up at the crescent moon nestled right above the saddle of the mountains.  Stars blink and shine around it.  Millions and millions, like you can only see when far away from civilization and up on a mountain where the sky is too thin to conceal even the dimmest pinpricks of light.

Even though the day was scorching hot, the night is cool enough that Dean shivers under a slight breeze.  Warm arms come around him, and Castiel’s chin comes to rest on his shoulder.

“How are you, Dean?”

Dean’s cheeks hurt when he grins.  He’s been smiling more than he has in a while.  The last time he was this happy was the first time he got pregnant.  He’s pretty sure the reasons for his happiness will stick around much longer this time.

He’s got his mate.  He’s got a new life growing in his belly.  He finally has his long lost daughter.  

Castiel is also radiating joy, partially because of Dean, and also because he’s got a little bit of his own family back.  He still thinks Cas should punch Gabriel in the nose for waiting so long to confess what he’s been up to.  Especially since Gabriel had figured out about the child trafficking long before Cas had but didn’t have the balls to put a stop to it like Castiel did.  But if Castiel doesn’t want to throw his fists around, that’s up to him.  Dean is happy just picturing his alpha mate pummelling the older Novak.

A religious Were would see the crescent moon as the goddess Luna smiling down on him.  Dean isn’t much for religion, but for once in his life he gets the slightest tug of feeling that maybe, just maybe, it’s true.

“I’m good, Cas,” Dean whispers.  “How are you?”

“I’m…” Castiel pulls in a shaky breath and tightens his arms around Dean.  “I’m so happy I can’t even describe it.  There are no words.”

Dean chuckles.  Yeah.  That’s exactly how he’d put it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't been replying to comments for the last few chapters. It was hard to respond without giving away spoilers, so I kept quiet. Anyway, that's it! I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr if you want. Same username ;D


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